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[center][img]http://fontmeme.com/embed.php?text=Wyatt%20Rothenberg&name=Sweetly%20Broken.ttf&size=100&style_color=FFF6F0[/img]

[b]Location:[/b] [i]Seraphim Tattoos, The Bronx[/i]
[b]Interacting With:[/b] [i]Tatiana Carrington[/i][/center]
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Wyatt wanted to point out that he wasn’t a mind reader, that there had been no possible way for him to anticipate her lineage, but when Tatiana started on her own rant, he knew he was better off shutting up and listening. While he could more than hold his own in a barfight, this was a different matter altogether. For all his bluster, Wyatt’s bite had always been worse than his bark, and just like every other incident in the past, he still proved to be far too easily outmanoeuvred in the art of verbal jousting. Or did being a Carrington give her an unfair advantage? He wasn’t sure, but he liked to think that right now, the intricacies of debate was the least of his concerns, especially when he noticed Tatiana inching towards him.

Much like a deer caught in the headlights, he froze, though he never did let his gaze shutter away. There was a look in Tatiana’s, a curiosity that felt almost clinical, like she was searching for something in the deepest, darkest depths of his soul, assessing, but Wyatt eventually convinced himself that he was just being dramatic. Clearly, this was just her method of asserting dominance over him, though he couldn’t say it wasn’t working. A few times, he almost broke eye contact, the temptation skittering across the surface of his skin, but that would mean admitting defeat, and he’d be damned if he let any of his inner turmoil show.

When she finally backed away, however, Wyatt let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, the cigarette hanging between his fingers raised back to his lips. The stare-down might’ve only lasted a second or two, but to him, it felt close to an eternity, and he was sort of unnerved when Tatiana started to giggle away at seemingly nothing. Were all Carringtons like this? God, he hoped not. This was a little hard for him to take in, to say the least, and coming from someone like him, that was rich.

After all, it was exceedingly clear that Wyatt had never been the most upstanding member of society. It didn’t take much to send him into a tailspin, even on a regular day, but this conversation had pierced right through his defences like a hot knife through butter.

“Glad you managed to find some humour in all this.” He muttered, a little sullenly, though the corner of his mouth was quirked upwards in a wry sort of smile. For all intents and purposes, it looked as if the storm had passed, and he had to stop himself from heaving a huge sigh of relief. Maybe if he stopped sticking his foot in his mouth, things would go a lot more smoothly for him, though he highly doubted he would ever take the advice to heart.

Then, she mentioned the money, and Wyatt almost choked on his cigarette. [i]Ten. Fucking. Grand.[/i] That was how much he earned in six months, and she wanted to pay him that [i]per week[/i]? This couldn’t be happening, this [i]wasn’t[/i] happening. This kind of thing just didn’t happen to people - not in real life, at least. For a few long moments, he felt like if he said anything, or even moved a muscle, he would wake up from this beautiful, [i]beautiful[/i] dream of being offered fifty grand to go on a trip to Europe. But, as always, he couldn’t help but blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

“That’s a lot of money.” Again, it was an purely rhetorical statement. What else could be said about something of this magnitude? “Y-yeah, I mean, but... Shit, that’s a lot of money.”