damienrath

[damienrath]

open to anyone ( capping at 4 ) outside the flat ( sidewalk )

Ever the entrepreneur, Damien had recently, within the last few months, begun the task of seeking out spaces to expand his business empire. Even if he hadn't decided which business he'd bring to Westport's downtown area, either another ultra lounge like Citta in New York, or a tattoo parlor it seemed as though he was staying in Westport for a while.

After two years in and enjoying where he'd resided it seemed like a smart move and time to bite the bullet. He still had his apartment in NYC, a place where he could stay whenever he went to check on things, and he had a home here. The empty storefront he was taking a look at was for the idea of a tattoo parlor.

Arms folded over his chest, Damien took a step back, trying to get a visual and see if what was in his head could work for this particular spot. When he'd taken another step his large frame trampled someone. "Ah, shit, you good?" Damien asked as he turned.

[damienrath]

When Damien had approached the bar his tattooed hands rested on the edge of it while he made eye contact with the bartender. There was a silent exchange between them, to which he'd nodded that they'd be there in a minute. He wasn't planning on sticking around in such a busy place, Damien preferred the darker and quieter corners of whatever establishment he'd found himself in. Usually to avoid how much of a conversation piece he was. His own fault, he'd admit to that, but they weren't why he'd covered himself in ink.

"It's good," he held a hand out in her direction momentarily to placate the woman and her apologies. "You can keep your space." She seemed to be avoiding eye contact and kept unnecessarily explaining herself. Damien knew why people did that and he wish she'd see that it wasn't necessary with him.

"Yeah, how about a high ball with Japanese whiskey," Damien had said to the bartender, his New York accent making him standout in the Connecticut crowd.

Since she'd moved all of her stuff he felt a little guilty but still made no move to take the seat. Damien's inked hand rested on the back of the empty chair and he settled what some would call an intense gaze on the brunette. "Ah, it's work then. I'd assumed you were a student. I wouldn't be able to focus with all of this," he said, free hand raising a finger to indicate the bar.

location: nolan's tavern

status: open to anyone (capped at 0/4)

With her leather bound planner sat off to her right, a row of highlighters and pens meticulously lined up straight ahead, and a stack of manila folders to her left Bek looked like she belonged at home, at her desk, more than she did a crowded bar. Something about the chaotic hum of background noise oddly soothed her, though. It canceled out the racing thoughts that otherwise typically filled her head.

And it was there, in the blissful sweet spot of clarity and focus, that she got her best work done. The randomly discovered trick was a boon for her... but not so much the other patrons who came in for a stiff drink and a bite to eat.

The baby hairs at the back of her neck lifted, tipping her off to a presence nearby. She'd almost bet money they were interested in the only free stool left. The stool that just so happened to be blocked by both her tote bag and her spread.

"Sorry, sorry. Let me just—" Knocking her bag to the floor and carefully picking up her piles of folders Bek maintained a downcast gaze, if only to ignore the flush of heat across her face. "I got here hours ago when it wasn't so... this." Packed. Busy. Limited on seating. "Guess you could say I have a hard time leaving work at work, you know?"

[damienrath]

𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒉

𝐢.    biography.   𝐢𝐢.   connections.   𝐢𝐢𝐢.   visage.   𝐢𝐯.   character study.

[damienrath]

[damienrath]

[damienrath]

Your scars are a warning to all future monsters, of the hell you have survived before them, every demon you vanquished, and every battle you won.

Nikita Gill  

[damienrath]

[damienrath]

[damienrath]