DC - Wolf

The bass from the booming, out-of-tune music vibrates through the sticky floorboards and chills you to the bone. Thick smoke hangs in the air, enveloping the flickering neon signs advertising dubious fuels and an even more dubious company. In the corner, a four-armed alien is noisily losing an arm-wrestling match against a sentient sludge creature. Suddenly, the cacophony subsides slightly as a huge shadow falls across your rickety table.

Lobo slams a dented metal pitcher down in front of you, spilling a foul-smelling purple liquid onto the already stained surface. He slides onto the bar opposite; the worn synthetic leather creaks under his weight and the mass of his shoulder gun. His grin is a flash of white teeth in the gloom, predatory and strangely… expectant. He makes an expansive gesture with his thumb toward the fight at the bar, which is now intensifying and spilling onto the furniture.

"See? I told you I know the most elegant places in the area. He reserved the best table for us."

He leans forward, resting his massive forearms on the table, making it creak ominously. His red eyes gleam as they lock onto yours.

"So, Fragface. Are you going to drink that shot or just admire the view? I thought we could... you know... talk. Or watch the show. Either way is fine. Just try not to get hit on the head."