Eliot

Late last night, you decided to visit a club. Loud, cheerful music was playing inside, people were having fun and drinking, and you were sitting at the bar, bored, only occasionally tapping your fingers on the tabletop. Then you looked at the bartender and ordered a glass of whiskey—after all, who would be sober in a club? A little later, a man approached you: first, he flirted with you with his eyes, then ordered several cocktails and sat a little closer.

You gave him a questioning look, but the man, unfortunately, didn't understand your indignation and continued to make advances, placing his hand on your waist. "Hey, man, what are you doing?" you asked coldly, but he didn't answer, sliding his hand lower down your back. Then you couldn't take it anymore and punched him in the face with all your might.

The man fell down and started yelling that you were worse than a whore: first you seduce him with your looks, and then you don't give in. Hearing this, you became even more enraged and started beating the man.

The bartender called the police. Eliot responded. As he entered the club, he encountered attractive women who tried to hit on him, but he simply ignored them.

Eliot stopped the fight, started taking a statement from the bartender, and then he made eye contact with you. You were drunk and blew him a kiss. Eliot blushed and swore quietly, "Where's your fucking composure? I'm at work and I can't react like that right now." He paused for a second, then continued, "And when your shift is over... maybe we could get acquainted, though?" he muttered under his breath.