hawth0rnes

[hawth0rnes]

( @blacksheepfms -- the forest late, in the middle of the night )

Pain ricochets through Rowan's right leg. His knife is tight between his teeth while he laces up his shoe again. Two hunts gone unsuccessful in one night. During his training phase, that meant terrible, gruesome tasks and training for the next few days. Rowan had grown older, fifteen years to be exact, and yet he still had those days where he felt like punishment would be logical for how much he was failing. But his senses don't disappoint him, and only seconds later he stands face to face with someone he has seen around before, but does not know the name of. Maia.

The knife in between his teeth does not tell much of a story. It's a usual hunting knife, paired with clothes that would be good for animal hunting, anyway. Rowan furrows his eyebrows, raises his body from the forest ground and straightens his back before slowly taking the knife out of his mouth. "Hey.", he greets the stranger, "Got lost in the woods? These are private grounds."

[hawth0rnes]

( @littlexhawthorne -- hawthorne manor late, in the evening )

If his head were a bowl of glass, it would be shattered into a thousand pieces now. Pain echoed through every single centimeter of his body, and it had done so for the last few days. The masked ball had been a nightmare. The days after had been a nightmare. The only small, blinking light under his constant blanket of darkness had been Marlowe. A girl who he should stop thinking about as soon as possible, but he couldn't. She just wouldn't leave his head, and Rowan had never hated anything as much before. Her face was torturing him, and while his heart urged him to let it feel good, to voluntarily think of her, his mind was trying to shut it all out.

Rowan had his face buried in Valentine's pillow, taking in the overpowering smell of perfume and freshly washed bedsheets, while simultaneously listening to Valentine talk about the outfit she was figuring out for the dinner with their parents. Those parents that barely spoke to him ever since the masked bill, given the state he appeared at their house after. Demolished by two vampires within a very short amount of time. Embarrassing, especially for a Hawthorne. "Wear that Chanel bag Dad got you last week.", he muttered into the pillow, "Looks nice with the rest of the fit." That he hadn't seen, but hey, what could go wrong, given the bag was white. "You done yet?"

[hawth0rnes]

"It's not my fucking party." Rowan does not want to be rough with her. He really does not want to be. But blood is pouring from a big gush in his arm and his chest is burning with anger. "This has to be the Avery's fault. It just has to be. God, how I hate these stupid fuckers." When Marlowe mentions Lakeview, Rowan whips around, "No hospitals, no cabs, no strangers. We're going to your apartment, our manor is too far away. Listen, Marlowe. I know this is a lot, but I will explain it once we're safe."

His hand wraps around hers and he intertwines their fingers. "All of it.", Rowan admits, "All of it is mine. I could barely see a fucking thing." Rowan draws her in the direction, "We need to watch out for Werewolves, yeah? You see a wolf, you bolt. I will fight them. No discussions, yeah? Just fucking run." He pauses, then. "You do know about... fuck it, yeah. You see an animal of all sorts, you just run. I'll take care of it." His fingers tighten around hers and he draws her with him, his heart beating faster than it should. "Did you see who did it? Your friend, who killed her. Did you see their face?"

Rowan knows he's a mess. He consumed too much champagne for his own good, the loss of blood is dizzying him and so is the adrenaline rush that has barely started subsiding. A roar echoes back from the museum and Rowan speeds up, draws Marlowe with him faster, pushing through his pain and his anxiety. "I'm sorry.", he says at some point, "This is a fucking mess. You shouldn't have found out like this. You shouldn't even know who I am."

she hadn't realized she was screaming until umi had grounded her. it had all happened so fast. the lights going out and losing rowan in the ensuing shuffle. someone had bumped into her and sent her flying across the tile and landing in something sticky. a substance she would have assumed to be champagne if it weren't so warm. the camera light of someone's cellphone will leave her with the haunting image of abby brewer's pale face and unblinking eyes above a torso covered in blood for months to come, she's sure. guess she'll never be joining her for that pilates class after all.

her new friend barely has gotten her off the floor and calmed her down before rowan's hand is gripped around her arm. her eyes land on the glint of the knife in his other hand, but the offer to get her the hell out of this place is music to his ears. so, she silently goes along at first, keeping pace with him as they are rushing down the stairs. ❝ i-it's not my blood. i'm fine. i promise. it's abby's... and she's fucking dead rowan. she's dead. ❞

when they're outside, the moonlight's better at providing light to illuminate him. rowan hawthorne his suit now stained in blood and a feral look in his eyes she doesn't recognize... she's hardly ever seen him angry. but she trusts him, a hell of a lot more than she would trust anyone else in the carnage they have just left behind.

a shaky hand wipes at the tears staining her cheeks, likely spreading some of her former regular customer's blood across her cheek. there's no time for her emotions and thousand questions until they're out of the streets of westray at such a late hour. ❝ could have used a warning that i would need to bring a knife to your fancy party. ❞ the half-hearted rush of air that has to constitute as a chuckle in this moment sounds pathetic even to her own ears and does little to lighten her own mood as she had hoped.

❝ we aren't far from the cafe. we can go there. -- how much of that blood is yours? shit. maybe we can catch a cab to lakeview? ❞

[hawth0rnes]

( @peaceworn -- lunar eclipse massacre late, in the night )

"Marlowe." Rowan's hand grasps her arm in the dark when the slowly returning moonlight allows a glimpse onto her dress. He recognizes her immediately. His knife is drawn, there is blood on him that is not his, and in the weak light, Rowan does not look human any longer. He looks like a true, feral hunter. "We need to leave now. I have no fucking idea what's going on. Fuck." There's no chance he could drive. Too much champagne. So he just drags her in the direction of the safest part of the city, far from the Moonstone Museum.

"Are you okay?", he asks as they rush down the stairs in the dark, his hand still wrapped around her arm in a firm grip, "Are you hurt in any way? God, whoever did this will die, Marlowe. I swear. I will kill him with my very own hands if you are injured in the slightest." There's no need to look out for Val. She knows how to take care of herself. Knows how to defend herself properly, no matter how strong the beast may be. Marlowe, though. Not yet.

"Fuck." Realisation dooms, the slight fair that she might be repelled by seeing his true face. His true form, "Listen, I can explain."

[hawth0rnes]

( @faeriddled -- The Lunar Eclipse Masked Ball late, in the evening )

Champagne is flowing so fast that Rowan can barely say no before a fresh glass is poured for him. He tried. He really did try to stay sober tonight, but everything that is happening around him has brought him to fail. The weird conversations. Everyone behaving strangely. If he does not believe in one thing, then it is true magic -- but the full moon is making him think that maybe, it is really there.

His head starts hurting more and more and soon enough Rowan stops watching where he's going, until he bumps into a stranger, and almost spills champagne all over himself. "Shit.", Rowan starts cursing as the sticky liquid drips all over his hand, and he graciously saves his suit from getting all wet, too. "Watch where you're going, man.", he blurts out, "You almost got me all messed up, dude."

[hawth0rnes]

( @peaceworn -- The Lunar Eclipse Masked Ball late, in the evening )

Camera lights are flashing, and Rowan knows they know it's him. Of course they do. He's one of the people that come the closest to being a celebrity in town, and he's a young, rich bachelor, who, for once in his life, appears with a woman in his arms. There have been occasions where some cute girls mingled with him during parties, but it's not like he brought them there. It's not like tonight -- with Marlowe. A silver flower is tucked into the pocket of his suit, matching her dress. A dress in which she looks gorgeous on.

His steady hand is wrapped around her waist until they reach the stairs, and then he holds it out for her to take, leading her upwards. He cannot deny it: His heart skips a little beat, watching her walk. "You look beautiful.", Rowan murmurs softly once they're inside, "I'm glad you came with me." As glad as he could be, expecting anger from his sister, and questions from many others, "Would you like something to drink?"

[hawth0rnes]

"I just brought her." Rowan saw the anger in Valentine's eyes the second she approached them, and while he tried to run off, he did not manage in time. Now Marlowe was left alone with all the hungry sharks, in the middle of a crowd full of creatures he would rather not leave her alone with. "She's just my company for the evening. Not more. I did not want to show up alone. She's wearing a mask, and they don't know her. They won't know who she is tomorrow." At least hopefully, they will not. Rowan will try to be sure of that.

"It's not like it's a date or something. She's your friend. I don't fuck your friends." Which, to be honest, is a lie. There was this girl called Lena? Or Lina? Or Marlene? a few years ago, and then a Stella, or Star, or whatever other name with S she could have had. But Marlowe is a different friend. She's not as posh, or as fancy as the other girls. She's so beautifully normal. Thing is, his father would rather marry him off to the richest man his age in town, than to a girl not worth a million at least.

"It's just one night, okay? We regularly do stuff together alone. I've known her for as long as you know her, remember?" Rowan rolls his eyes, "Can you chill out? We're adults, kay?"

Closed Starter for: @hawth0rnes

The chandeliers drip crystal tears across marble floors, their shimmer catching in the delicate threads of Valentine’s dress, a baroque dream in golden toile, sculpted to her body like the whisper of an ancient curse. Her gloved hands, embellished and expressive, flutter once at her sides as she sweeps through the museum’s grand atrium, her mask glinting with jeweled menace beneath the curve of her auburn curls. The gala is decadent: murmured secrets, violins trembling through oil-slick air, and gowns that rustle like costly sins. Her entrance is a performance, of course. Every step curated, every glance barbed. Until-

Her gaze lands on them.

Rowan, polished in tailored perfection and a mask that conceals nothing from her. And beside him: Marlowe. In moonlit silver and too much proximity. Her best friend. Her brother. Together. The flute in her hand doesn’t waver, but her jaw sets. Of course, he didn’t tell her. Naturally, he presumed he could just… waltz in like that.

That deceitful son of a witch!

Valentine slices through the crowd like a blade ripping satin. Her pumps echo too sharply in her ears as she intercepts Rowan mid-conversation, lips parted in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “May I borrow my darling dear brother for a moment?” She mewls, not waiting for a response before curling her digits into his sleeve and dragging him toward an empty corridor lined with Roman busts and poor decisions.

Once they’re out of earshot, the mask of poise drops just enough to bare a sliver of fang. Her voice is still soft. That’s the danger of it. “You brought her?” Valentine hisses, eyes glittering through her mask. “No heads-up. No warning. No goddamn common courtesy?” She doesn’t want to hurt Marlowe. Doesn’t even blame her, not really. But Rowan? Rowan knows better. Or he should.

[hawth0rnes]

In a way, Rowan knew from the moment Sebastian sat down next to him at the bar. The aged mannerisms, the way to greet a person, the lack of recognization. Sebastian looking a little too much like his uncle. The Averys aversion against harming those that were innocent. Rowan figured that he could use his disguise to cause trouble -- trouble that his family was not keen on, and the Averys surely weren't, either. "Evening. What do I owe the late pleasure to?" Roughed up fingers traced the lines carved into the glass cup while he sat up straighter in his chair.

His company went astray for a moment, and that allows him to plot something up within seconds -- the new vampire clan in town has been causing havoc, and Rowan would like to return some chaos right back into their lap. "You're 'new' in town?", he asked, "You know, they might believe that, but I won't." Rowan took a sip of his own drink, "Once you've been here, you can't get the town out of you, can you. You grew up here." The liquor burns down his throat, but he enjoys the sensation. He may have promised countless of people to stay sober for the night, but who is he to keep a promise. "Right, Sebastian Avery?"

Who: Sebastian & @hawth0rnes 

Where: lunar eclipse masquerade ball

He had been a little skeptical about showing up in town. Going back to the place where he used to live, growing up, and seeing how much things had changed. He had been in town for about six months now, keeping a low profile. The only comments in passing were about how he looked like his uncle. Sebastian watched the crowd. So far, he had managed to get by without much suspicion, and tonight as he was fully masked, no one seemed to really mind.

The only thing holding him back, the dull ache in his head. It felt like something was pressing against his skull. If he didn’t know better, he would have guessed that death was coming for him again. In pursuit of trying to find answers, he took another look around. The mask was blocking out most of the light, but his heightened vision helped that.

He rubbed a gloved hand along his arm as he walked, trying to sense who was a supernatural, who was a human, or a hunter. He wished he knew better. Six months, Sebastian had gotten a pretty good idea of the town. Sitting back, observing, moving through town as a journalist. He nodded to the man next to him at the bar, ordering himself a whiskey, neat. "Evening," he drawled.

[hawth0rnes]

ROWAN HAWTHORNE AT THE LUNAR ECLIPSE MASKED BALL

accompanied by @peaceworn (marlowe) and his family. wearing a tailored suit and a handmade mask. invited by the avery family themselves.

[hawth0rnes]

The moment Rowan catches sight of her being confronted with the fresh breeze, he lets his jacket slip of his shoulders, and places it around hers instead. His empty hand opens the door, the other hand secure on her lower back. "Nah. I haven't been. Come on in." Rowan waits until she's sitting, then he closes the door, walks around the car and sits down behind the wheel.

"You look pretty." A brief compliment, which had never been rare for him. He'd say nice things in between insults on the way to school -- sometimes mixed up. You look pretty, nerd. Like the dress, weirdo. Nowadays, he'd settled for compliments. Ones that could actually sound nice, that would not make him feel nervous about the way he'd be perceived as a potential softie. Some teenage boys he had been surrounded by back then had been a lot -- evil, violent, and mean. Unlike them, Rowan had outgrown that phase.

"There's a new restaurant in town, and they offer ice cream covered in hardened and crunchy caramel as a desert. I thought you would maybe like that." Rowan shrugs softly, "And they have a pasta on the menu I'd like to try. With mushrooms, ham, and veggies." When they stop at a red light, Rowan winks at her, "Dinner's on me, of course. You can order as much as you'd like. They have some rare wines you might like to try."

one thing she's grateful for since her return to westray is the hawthorne siblings. save for a small period where valentine was justifiably upset with her for returning to town without a word, it was almost like the three year ill-fated gap in their communication had never happened. any excuse to pretend that she hadn't plunged headfirst into a toxic situation is more than fine with her. the text earlier from rowan was met with excitement. she had many fond memories with him from their younger years. he may have never made her feel inferior without a powerful family name or abundance of wealth, but she found herself a lot more nervous getting ready for this than she did picking her outfit out for her dinner date with val the other night. maybe she'd had a bit of a best friend's brother crush growing up. could anyone really blame her?

so the sixty minutes had turned into sixty-two after two dress changes and careful attention to her under eye coverup. the soon to be fading sunlight glistens off the glass door to her apartment building, announcing her arrival. nothing ritzy or glamorous as what can be found in west view, but marlowe thinks she's done well for herself considering the financial ruin her blip in seattle left her in. nevertheless, the car of a hawthorne sticks out on her rather nondescript street. she's met with a bit of a cool breeze which makes her second guess the decision to not at least grab a cardigan on her way out the door for the spaghetti strapped dark jade silk dress she ultimately decided on.

an apologetic smile graces her soft berry lips as she approaches rowan leaning against his car. ❝ sorry rowan! i hope you haven't been waiting too long. do i get to know where we're going for this fancy dinner yet? ❞

[hawth0rnes]

"Valentine." As much as Rowan hates to admit it, this moment is embarrassing him in the worst way possible. His darkest secret is dangerously close to being revealed to the person that matters to him the most -- his sister. "I'm not wearing a suit." A perfectly normal statement, were he referring to wearing something entirely else. Instead, he was still wearing barely anything. "Can you fix it?", another brief sentence, this time accompanied by his fingers pointing at his eye, bruised and slightly swollen. "With like, that fluid make-up stuff."

A few beats pass as he tries to steady himself, "I think I'm addicted." He does not specify to what, at first. In his eyes, it is quite clear. The mix of alcohol and coke he usually ingests are nothing but drugs tied to wealth, and often old money. Rowan hates all of it, and sometimes even wishes there had been no money at all. "I just don't know how to stop. How to be sober anymore. I simply don't want to be, you get me? Every time I am, I am just confronted with arguments, and my faults, and... whatever else they want to throw at me." They, as in their perfectly pristine parents.

"What... what color should I wear?"

The disgrace of their older brother snapped her reality as if a corset string. Suddenly, her glittery chaos was under scrutiny, and she despised being told to behave. But tonight, she and Rowan were expected to slip into something elegant and perform for the masses. Oh, joy

"Rowan, what color is your sui-"

The door creaks open with the slow elegance of someone who’s used to being feared for arriving late. The soft click of heels, sinister little metronomes against the marble, pauses just past the threshold. Valentine, perfectly composed in a silk robe the color of sin, lets her dark gaze sweep across the room as if she’s sizing up a crime scene. "It smells like a pitstop bathroom in here." She leans one shoulder against the doorframe, expression unreadable save for the cruel little arch of one brow. Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly. “You look like a Picasso painting that got into a bar fight.” A pause, then a bright, theatrical smile. “And lost.”

Yet, though her words are acidic, a glimmer of concern flashes in her depths. "What on earth have you gotten yourself into?" Sure, Valentine could party like a 80s pornstar, but she also knew when to collect herself for a presentation. "Hurry up, we need to get you cleaned up. And swiftly, we haven't much time to spare."

[hawth0rnes]

"Nah, man, I'm just hanging out. Taking a break from that party." Not that he had ever attended that party. Most of the attendees were quite a bit younger than he was, but that meant nothing. He had younger siblings, and tons of younger cousins. Lots of excuses. And then there's the chance to lie, anyway. He had one knife left -- and if even he could smell the faint hint of blood nearby, then the other man, were he to be a supernatural, surely could too. Rowan had a few chances -- pray he was a human, and bolt. Attack him first, so that he would not loose.

"Taking a stroll in the middle of the night, huh?", Rowan raises his eyebrows, his hand resting in his pocket, fingers wrapped around the knife -- silver. Not quite as strong as metal, but deadly to werewolves. "My family's grounds start in a few hundred meters. If I were you I'd make sure not to walk too far."

Myles was on his night watch, keeping an eye on the forest, making sure there was no trouble happening or trouble lurking around. He moved slowly, observing the figure in the shadows. He typically knew the walk or movement, even the scent of most supernaturals. Humans, however, were more difficult to gauge. They were harder to keep up with, always changing. But he could tell this one was human just by the bow and arrow he was holding. What he sees doesn’t quite match what he smells, however. Still, he moved slowly until the human’s voice rang in his ears. He raised an eyebrow and slowly moved out from behind the shadows he had been waiting in. He decided to wait a little more before speaking up. “Just walking. Taking a stroll,” he stepped forward and looked the younger man up and down. “You looking for someone? Or something?”

[hawth0rnes]

( @peaceworn -- Rowan's car early, in the evening )

Sober, for once. His head had been hurting badly enough because of last night's wine already, and so Rowan got into his car, like a good, perfectly pristine citizen, driving to pick up no one other than his litte sister's friend. When he arrived at their agreed pick up point, he got out of the car, leaned against the passenger seat's door and crossed his arms in front of his chest. Marlowe had always been cute. His mother had asked him about her before, at eighteen -- "Future wife?" but before he even had the chance to grasp the idea, his father had barked in with his typical "Not a good fit. Too poor."

Rowan wondered, what would be rich enough for him one day. From that day on, and not only with the purpose of displeasing his father, he had made it his monthly goal to spend as much money as possible on Marlowe without causing a ruckus, and without making it seem weird to her. It had started with picking her up for school in his sports car, and it kept going with texts like the one he sent out today: Meet me in sixty, dressed nice, for a fancy dinner.

Now he was waiting, impatient like he always was, gaze stern, fixated on the door -- almost ready to pull out his phone to urge her to come down faster.

[hawth0rnes]

"Not fucking bougie enough.", he muses, amused sparkle rushing through his eyes, "You read that name on the card. My family would rather be caught dead than be caught here." Rowan leans back on his stool, "You're exactly my age.", he analyzes, surprised, "You seem like a rather old soul." A pause echoes through his whole body, and while Rowan's body does not move, his eyes do -- up at Edward, skeptical.

"You think I'm scared some robbers are gonna sack me and steal some of my money?" An amused noise follows his question, "Nah, dude. Not scared at all. They can listen all they want." After all, Rowan hopes they come for him, just so he can take them out in a good, long fight. Violence is what he truly craves, but setting a foot into the Sixth Sense might be a death sentence.

"Oh, so I'm the highlight of your days?", Rowan jokes softly, emptying his glass and demanding it to be refilled, "You should have said that right away, dove. I would have come around more often. Booked a special service with the bartender." His whole body hurts, and the alcohol is barely helping with the numbing. "How long you been in Westray?" Because he surely must have seen him around at some point.

Eddy nodded a little as he listened to the man's response. Even though the only real family he had now was his sister, he could still vaguely remember ditching the fancy dinner parties his parents used to throw to go and have a night to himself in London. Even popping in to a couple of places just like this back in the day. "And what is so wrong with this place?" he asked, trying to sound serious for a moment, be he couldn't help but smirk as he asked it.

His eyes widened when the man guessed his age. He knew he would never even get close to guessing the real number, but twenty-four? it was enough to make a man blush, if Edward even could blush. "Not far off, mate." Edward lied again. Not that he was about to reveal the truth to this absolute stranger. Still, he could just about remember the age he was when he became what he was. "I'm twenty-nine, and don't take it personally, I call everybody kid." He shrugged.

"And I'm sure my boss appreciates your custom, but if I can give you a little advice, maybe don't flaunt your cash too much around here, some real nasty creatures in these parts." Eddy muttered, putting on his best fake southern accent. Once again finding himself taken aback by the man's words. It was a fair question, but strangely, one that Edward didn't get asked often. Meaning he had never put much thought to why in the hell a man like himself was tending bar in a shit hole like this.

Buying him a little time to answer the question, he extends his arm slowly and shakes Rowan's. Nodding with a smile. "Edward. It's a pleasure, Rowan." he says before pulling his hand back.

"And I don't know. A job is a job I guess. The people are alright. My boss isn't too bad most of the time." He shrugs, genuinly unsure whether he's just saying all these reasons because they sound like the right answer, or if he truly believes his words. "And I guess you and your tips are just a plus." he adds with a soft laugh and a wink in Rowan's direction.

[hawth0rnes]

( @littlexhawthorne -- The Hawthorne Estate late, in the evening tw: alcohol and drug addiction, throwing up )

Rowan is so high, that he can barely lay on his back without the room spinning. Dizzy out of his mind, he crawls into his very own, private bathroom, and empties the contents of his stomach into the bowl. The room does not stop spinning, however, and Rowan makes it back onto his bad, the alcohol completely blinding all of his senses -- and then he hears his sister's shoes approaching his door on the marble floors. Panic makes him stand up, and Rowan scrambles to get out of his dirty clothes, barely making it into some shorts before the door opens.

Bruises cover his entire body, and he looks like he has not slept in days. "What?", he asks, his voice shaking, and one look into the mirror reminds him to wipe away the remains of coke stuck around his nose, "It's not eight already, is it? Are we meant to be heading for dinner?" Rowan almost stumbles trying to rip a new shirt out of his wardrobe, "Fuck."

[hawth0rnes]

( @stllcfthcnght -- the forest late at night )

Rowan knows what it looks like. A young man in the middle of the forest, who's face has been plastered all over the news, for various reasons. Hawthorne Heir, presumed dead. Brother devastated. Brother not really showing emotions. New Hawthorne Heir, ready to party, but not to lead. Rowan Hawthorne, still single? Strange. Yeah, fucking strange, he thinks, bow and arrow in his hands. Then the wood cracks nearby, and the noise of people celebrating an be heard. College students by the lake, he realizes, and he's quick to throw the bow and arrow into the woods, unbuttoning his shirt by a few buttons, looking for a thrown away cup to pick up from the ground. But there are none, and so he resumes playing slightly drunk -- though no need to act. He is.

"Ayo.", he blurts at the stranger, who looks way too old to be a college student, "Out in the forest, all alone at night? Who knows what's out there."

[hawth0rnes]

"Tuesday's are reserved for family dinners." Rowan is surprised he said it out loud, and a glimpse of worry in his eyes shows that the words had been meant to be a mere thought. But there they are, laid surprisingly bare, and he feels more naked than he ever would, unclothed. Then again -- is it truly a secret, that his family is everything but perfect? That's what money does to people. Imperfection. Anger. Jealousy. "And I think 90 percent of my family members would rather die than ever set foot into this establishment. However, they would also wear suits in the pool if they could, so I wouldn't give too much on their judgement. Which is why I'm hear."

Rowan takes a sip, nods in his direction, "I don't come here for the girls. Not for the boys, either." Then, a calculating gaze. "Kid.", he echoes, "Like you're older than me. What are you, 24?" Not that Edward truly looks like 24, Rowan just likes to fuck around and find out, "Spending a lot of money here has proven itself worthy. Perhaps I'm keeping this place alive." Judging by the appearance of the men in the corner, he's not the only one. "What are you doing here, bartending in a place like this?", he twists the question around, "Not quite sure that you stick around for me and my tips."

Rowan's fingers start toying with his necklace, before he extends his hand for Edward to shake, "Rowan."

It had been a fairly boring night for Eddy so far, but the moment he saw that Hawthorne kid walk through the doors he new he was about to get real busy. At first, as with most customers he wasn't too fond of, he tried to look busy. Wiping the bar, clearing away old glasses, offering the regular bar flys a second or third drink, until it got to a point when he could no longer ignore the man as he stepped up to the bar.

"A grand or two." Eddy muttered as he poured a round for the very small house of people he had in tonight. He wasn't entirely sure why he had this random disdain for Rowan. In any other scenario a handsome man buying him a drink was usually a plus, but there was something, off about this one.

He put through the round of drinks, and rather than taking a tip he didn't need, he simply put through a bottle for later. He was already a few sheets to the wind, so what would another bottle do. As the fifth patron came to the bar for their drink, and Eddy lifted the man's amex from the counter. He tried to resist the random urge to strike up some sort of conversation with the generous bloke, until he couldn't avoid it any longer.

"So what's your deal man?"" he shifted towards Rowan. He had seen his share of cocky and weirdly philanthropic people in his time, something he couldn't quite relate to, being more of the 'tight'type back when he had the funds to throw about. "You come here, more than most, not that I'm judging" A true lie, he judged most people who came through those doors even when he tried not to. "So, I just gotta know, what brings you here night after night, kid? cause it can't be the Tuesday night girls"