[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/KGaNqAC.png[/img][/center] [hr][center] [h1][color=Gold]Marcus Weston[/color][/h1] [b]The Harlot Cafe, Cajun District, Point Bordeaux[/b][/center][hr] It was early afternoon, yet, the local watering hole, The Harlot Cafe, a divebar located in the Cajun District, was buzzing with life, the place was always at least half-full, as it was the place that sold the cheapest booze, even if their Ad-claimed they had the best chocolate cake in the entire city. In truth, the cake was pretty shitty, it was dry and you could almost taste the fact that the people in the kitchen had spit in it while making the batch. In truth, it was a pretty trashy place, somewhere people went to buy drugs, make backroom deals, gamble and get into fights, all things that fit the young man perfectly, as he sat at his regular table, a bottle of beer in his hand. His hand was noticeable because of the almost pink scar running over the back, from his wrist to his knuckles diagonally, as fresh today as when he got it. He wore a shallow V-neck T-shirt in a black shade, week old jeans and his unpolished boots, he was looking rough, as usual, his face sported a beard that framed his face, showing that he had not shaved in a couple of weeks, probably barely even showered during that time, either. If it wasn't for the 300 bucks leather jacket hanging on the seat behind him and the fact that he parked his 2014 Shelby Mustang outside, one could easily mistake him for a homeless person. He was finishing his third beer of the day - not counting the one he had after waking up, and the two he had at lunch - while looking at today's crowd. There were the college students, cramming for their evening test with a couple of drinks. They were usually here, both on school days and weekends, they were gonna fail their test, they always did. [i] Future generation[/i] He scoffed at the thought, his eyes still prancing through the room. Mindy was working the bar - a redhead, 23 years old, liked photographing and cat-videos, she had a butterfly tattoo on her back. She always rejected Marcus's romantic advances, but, she was nice about it, and more importantly. She didn't cut him off when Jacob, or August, the other two bartenders, would. In the back of the bar, the six bikers sat, their leader was a dude named Remy Barks, his mother french, his father a local, a tough-guy loan shark who wasn't afriad to put a bullet in someone's knee if they didn't pay up what they owed him, as it happens, Marcus owed him money, the payments on the car outside hadn't been cheap. Remy peered back at Marcus, and when their eyes met, Mr.Barks elbowed his boys, and pointed at Marcus, dragging his finger across his throat, Marcus held his almost empty beer up at the man while mouthing 'cheers', finishing his drink and putting the bottle down at the table. He got out of his chair, grabbed his jacket from the back and dug into his pocket for his wallet, getting out the five dollars he owed for his drinks, before heading out. He was going to go for a smoke before driving off, but he quickly saw the four bikers - Remy included, follow him out, Mandy shooting him a worried look. Marcus pulled the hood on his jacket over his head, as he scurried around the corner of the bar, into the open alley, that lead to the road where his car was parked. He heard the biker's footsteps pick up pace behind him, he walked calmly. Hearing Remy call for him. "Ay, Marky Mark!" He shouted, ten meters behind him, Marcus was turning around, when he was met with one of Remy's boys fist in the face, sending him to the ground, into a puddle of water. "Your pay is due, Marcus, in fact, it was due two weeks ago. I don't like waiting." Remy mused, leaning against the wall, while his four 'friends' towered over Marcus, as he laid there on the ground. "Uh, yeah. I guess it is." He began, trying to sit back up, when he was met with a boot in his chest, pushing him down, with a grunt, he was pressed around the cold and wet concrete, his hood falling off. He began feeling the chilly dirty water from the puddle wet his hair. "Stay the fuck down." The man who's foot was pressing against his rib cage. [i]"It's like I'm in high school all over again."[/i]