[center][color=a36209][h2]Castor Evans - Chinatown[/h2][/color]
[@Krayzikk] (text); [b]open for interaction[/b][/center]

Cast never stayed the night. 

The hours from dusk to dawn were best enjoyed when awake, when active, roaming for the darkest corners under the night sky in the name of prowling for action. Independence City may not have been as sleepless as New York or Atlantic City, but the parts there were awake at this time of night were alive the way that terminal patients liked to live. This was the city for screw ups with bucket lists; this was a place for Castor to find some action.

Blonde, bubbly, [i]boring[/i] action. Sitting up in bed, slipping on his jeans, with his whistling rendition of poor old dead Merle Haggard in his ears, Castor arched his back until he felt a crack and beamed. He was already anticipating finishing up the beer his date had poured for him and slipping out with a kiss on the nose and a fake phone number to slip her. He shouldn't have even come over. She was close by Cast's own apartment in Chinatown, which made her place a neat little pit stop before finishing off his night, but she was a secretary for another attorney in the state attorney's office, someone he'd been chatting up for a couple months between visits to the office - not his office, [i]the[/i] office. It felt uncomfortably like mixing two lives - mixing work and play could be like that. If she talked to anybody or made a thing about it, it would royally fuck things up with...

[color=a36209][i]bzzz[/i][/color]

[color=a36209]iMessage
Notification[/color]

He left the phone over his face for a couple of seconds, until the government-provided smartphone unlocked and he could read the notification.

>Early morning insomnia. Going to need coffee and aspirin at work tomorrow, if we don't already have them at the office. Please and thank you.

Castor grinned.

[color=a36209][i]Ey-heyyyy.[/i][/color]

The woman he'd [i]really[/i] spent all night thinking about, chipping away again at the graveyard shift. Bless Acheri and her commitment to the American way. It kept her too busy for dates.

>Hot, strong and dark. Just like my gal. I'll leave the expense bill under the French press : )

[color=a36209]"Hey babe, time for me to hit the road,"[/color] he said over his shoulder to the other occupant of the bed. He stood up, buttoning his pants, and began searching for his shirt and jacket before he could be stopped. It didn't seem like it was gonna be much of a problem, though; in the past five minutes she'd ebbed out of consciousness like a rock. He walked over to the kitchen counter and sipped on the beer he'd opened, a beverage that had long gone lukewarm in the hour or so it had been since he'd taken his last sip. For a second, he saw her roll over in bed, reach out to grab an invisible physique with one arm and scoop it closer. She thought he was still there.

Heh.

Girls were the coolest.

Castor wiped up the ring of condensation from his beer and tossed the rest into the recycle bin; the heavy glass [i]thunked[/i] against the bottom of the pail, followed by the [i]heavier[/i] thunk of the front door closing shut. As was customary, he checked his suppressed gun - the one he always carried inside - to make sure nothing had been knocked out of order or stripped from the weapon during his brief sojourn. When he was happy, he looked out to the parking lot where his Chevelle was parked. His eyes narrowed when he saw that one of the street lights above his car was flickering rapidly, probably in desperate need of a new bulb no one had the time, money, or concern to send all the way to Chinatown with a maintenance crew. It wasn't much of an inconvenience to people asleep in their apartments...

But to Castor, it meant fearing an ambush. 

[color=a36209][i]Let there be light in this sumbitch...[/i][/color]

Rolling his hand over in the air so that his palm faced upwards, into the starless night that hung over Independence City, Castor snapped his fingers once. The bulb shone brightest among any in the parking lot, and didn't flicker again until he'd peeled out and left his Chevelle in [i]another[/i] parking lot, closer to home. After that he would spend the rest of the night on foot, looking through every crack and crevice in the eclectic Chinatown district.

Looking for adventure.

Looking for meaning.

Looking for escape.

For coffee and aspirin.