[color=0072bc]'They sound like real characters. Do they live in this establishment?'[/color] Hardwick continued scribbling notes in his journal. Once, his handwriting was neat and disciplined; the script of a man of literacy. But as the neurosis and the drink slowly took their toll on him, so too had it on his writing. His script was a rough and almost indecipherable scrawl and, not unlike Hardwick, a shell of its former self. But he liked it that way. In a poetic way, the chaos of his writing reflected the chaos of his life - and besides, it was harder for prying eyes to glean information from his notes.

[i]Speaking of prying eyes...[/i] Just off to the right of the bar, Hardwick noticed from thr corner of his eye another of the patrons sitting just within earshot. The man was doing a rather poor job of eavesdropping on the conversation - he'd knocked over a stool trying to move in closer, and was casting one too many quick glances in their direction. Terror began to seep slowly into his core like a creeping chill. [I]Did they follow me here?[/i]

Hardwick leaned in close to Ayeka and lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper as he slipped her a few more dollars. [color=0072bc]'We're being watched. Another whiskey sour, but this time for the gentleman alone at the table over there. Tell him it's from me, and that I'm onto him.'[/color]

[@Alisdragon911] [@arca9]