[color=lightgray][right][sub][color=dimgray]TIMESTAMP:[/color] Tuesday Night 
[color=dimgray]Featuring:[/color] [color=bd33a4]Esmeralda Montero[/color] 
[color=dimgray]Introducing:[/color] [color=a35145]Ian Floyd[/color][/sub][/right]
[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/230402/6fc1da87a1f79f6a3dd9459869d68a4e.png[/img]
[b][color=dimgray]____________________________________________________________________[/color][/b]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/p7BBLZ7.png[/img]

[url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/users/brutalbx][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/211015/b5878257bfbd9cdd76a67a003c983966.png[/img][/url]  [img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/211015/52f6860b6ef04523593be20b787cf5af.png[/img]  [url=https://www.roleplayerguild.com/users/lovelycomplex][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/211015/450efa6a0ce5a6f0235bac836bcc1708.png[/img][/url]
[b][color=dimgray]____________________________________________________________________[/color][/b]

[/center]
[/color]
[color=lightgray][indent][indent]The Bull Shooters.

A roadhouse halfway between  middle of nowhere and somewhere, a place for people who don’t really want to be found. That’s what the Bull was. 

When Ian Floyd stepped through the old saloon doors, he was instantly struck by the smell of stale beer, cigarette smoke and manure. The background sounds to God’s forgotten shithole were that of old Merle Haggard records, the crack of pool cues against hard targets, the clinking and clanking of beer glasses in celebration of another day surviving the last vestiges of the great American frontier. Oh to be a renegade lost in the throes of time and space. 

With his guitar case in hand, the shaggy haired stranger walked silently through the mess of outlaw souls and honky tonk girls. He did not make eye contact, his hazel gaze buried beneath the brim of his white Stetson hat. The floor was sticky from the perfect mixture of spilled Coors Banquet, Jack Daniels and Warhorse Mead. Taking to the small, inches high stage, Ian placed his case down on the ground and a hand onto a nearby speaker. He needed to feel the energy of the place in his fingertips, to feel the room and its hearts beat alongside his. He heard a voice in his ear, one he could only assume was the owner asking him why he had hijacked the stage. Raising his finger to silence the slobbingly man, Ian’s eyes drifted to him only for a moment.

[color=a35145]“Old Fashioned.”[/color]

Dumbfounded, flabbergasted and absolutely terrified, the owner retreated to the bar to make the strangers drink whilst the pale rider turned to view his audience. [url=https://fashionbombdaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Eiza-Gonzalez-Cosas-Mexico-2015-4.jpg]She[/url] stood out like a beacon in the darkest of night. Amongst a herd of cowpokes at the pool table, she was at the centre, her incredible body on full display in her mesh tank and leather skirt. She was thriving on being the centre of attention, having all the men and some women fawning over her, desperate to kiss her red painted lips. She was there to hide and she was doing so by being the epicentre of an entire atmosphere. 

The owner returned with Ian’s drink which he took and downed instantly. [color=a35145]“Another, thank you sir.”[/color] As the grubby little man departed again, the stranger rolled up his sleeves to reveal his heavily tattooed hands and arms. Reaching out he turned down the background music which caused silence to fall in the Bull. Hundreds of eyes fell upon the stage as Ian plugged in his acoustic guitar and stepped up to the microphone. He began to pluck at the strings and his eyes locked with the woman by the pool table when he opened his mouth to sing. 

[color=a35145]“The other day I found myself up on the corner
I thought I run into a friend of mine
Ended up that he was just a stranger
I said hello as he passed me by

But then he turned and put a gun to my head
He said, My friend I'm going to rob you blind
I said You must be down on your luck
I'm out of money and I'm all out of time

He pulled the trigger and I fell to my knees
My spirit left and then my body went cold
I'm looking down upon the lights of the city
I feel alive, but I'm dead and gone.”[/color]

Souls meet in mysterious ways. There is a bind, a thread, that pulls them together. Some appear as natural threads meant to be intertwined, fed with needle and thread. Others? A powerful addiction. When they meet and find deep comfort and understanding, just by a look, separating the two becomes near impossible. Nothing in this world can keep them apart. Through some dire alchemy, in order to gain, one must sacrifice, in order to understand the good, there needs to be bad. In return, a gift of an irreplaceable fullmetal heart is presented to you. 

Esmeralda Montero couldn’t entertain the possibility of finding happiness she could call her own. She’s had her fair share of hardships, like the death of her parents, or the fact that her sister stays at a mental hospital and has since they moved to Edenridge. She understands the value of life. She understands why it should matter. She understands it doesn’t matter what cards you’re given, it’s how you play your hand. Even then, with her deep understanding and awareness, her life was never meant to be her own. Not in this story. Her life was for her family and always would be until the day she died. 

Under her uncle’s request, Esme had been assigned to assist the Gonzales side of her family and their business. She’s been doing that for a few months now and it seems that her stay was finally bearing fruit in the form of the Encanto project. Whether in plain sight or in the shadows, Esmeralda, or Belladonna as most in her profession would know her as, was capable of doing extraordinary things. Trained by a husband and wife duo, family friends, one gifted with finesse and fighting, a gunslinger if you may, and the other who fancied herself as an agent or conductor of sorts, getting what she needed and wanted through different means. Non-violent means. Together, they helped make Esme one of the best in her league. All on her own volition. 

Though none of that mattered here. Esme was at the Bull with no agenda other than to enjoy herself, away from her usual crowd, and participating in something simple, like a pool game with a few despicable men. One with a wife but looking for an escape, one who felt entitled over every woman he talked to, and one who wants to be seen as a gentleman but has a history with sexual violence. They saw a promiscuous woman wanting to be fucked but little did they know, this Flower was deadly. 

Gripping the cue stick, her body aligned with the shot, Esme decided it was time to stop toying with her prey. As they watched her bend over, distracted by the leather skirt wrapping around her thighs and hips so tightly, she observed the diamond system, sharply focused on her angle. With no need to take a few strokes with her arm, she made her strike and let the trick shot take its course. There was only one ball left and it was her’s. 

The 8-ball. 

When the music started playing and those at Bull Shooter gradually went silent, their eyes falling on a commanding presence, Esme brought her gaze from the table to the stage. She knew she made the shot so she didn’t need to watch it go in. Curiosity overflowed within her as even the thirsty fools next to her turned to a man with a guitar. When she noticed the musician singing and staring straight at her, she raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 

He captured her attention and in his eyes and in his song, she felt a profound intimacy. A familiarity like she knew what he was going through and he, her. His soul was sewn into each word and when she listened to his voice, she felt the raw emotion and desire for something simple, just like her. As much as she could’ve gotten lost in his eyes, the belle of the bar couldn’t drop her guard. Gritting her teeth behind a smile, she forced her stick in between her arm and side, shoving her weapon straight into one of the man’s stomachs. A man who was close to touching her backside. 

The Gentleman. 

Gasping and cursing, he spat,  [color=cccc00]“What the fuck?”[/color] 

[color=bd33a4]“I think I’ve had enough,”[/color] she pleasantly gleamed, turning away from the musician. Tossing her stick on the table, she scanned the men in front of her before her eyes fell on the one holding his stomach, [color=bd33a4]“Oh my bad, that looked like it hurt.”[/color] 

[color=cccc00]“No fucking shit,”[/color] the guy groaned. Peering up, his rageful eyes examined her form from a new angle, before straightening his body. [color=cccc00]“How you going to make it up to me, sweetheart?”[/color] 

[color=bd33a4]“Hm,”[/color] she blandly answered, unamused. Keeping up the act, Esme feigned innocence, knowing well enough he had no witnesses, [color=bd33a4]“Are you accusing me of hurting you? Lil’ ol’ me? I could never.”[/color] She teased, casually running her hand through her hair, giving a nice glimpse of her chest and the black cross pasties under her mesh shirt. [color=bd33a4]“Did you two see anything?”[/color] 

The other drunk men shook their heads. They were too busy watching the musician to notice the quick exchange between Esme and the Gentleman. The music was a much needed break from getting destroyed in a game of pool. By a woman no less. One man went out of his way to give his friend a pat in the back, [color=8493ca]“Drinking a bit, ey? Can’t even walk straight anymore I bet!” [/color]

Pushing the man’s arm away from him, the touchy one growled, [color=cccc00]“That bitch, with her stick…”[/color]

[color=bd33a4]“A bigger one than yours,”[/color] she purred, quietly egging him on as his friends looked at him like he was crazy. Frustrated that no one believed him, and that the other men were siding with a whore of a stranger, the drunkard reached for her wrist and forcibly grabbed it, dropping face and letting his true colors take surface. Not flinching in fear, letting this moment play out, she whispered, [color=bd33a4]“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”[/color] 

Ian watched the events and chaos unfold around the exotic beauty almost as if it was playing out on stage or screen and not on the messy bar floor that sat before him. When one watches these events happen in a fictional setting, you cannot step in on them. You cannot intervene or change the outcome of the matter. The stranger absorbed the scenes happening around him, as he always had but something was different this time. Ian could tell even from this distance that the woman had everything under control, she didn’t need him to be a knight in shining armour which he was far from being at the best of times. Yet she called to him, not with her voice or her words but with her eyes. There was something in her eyes.

He did not rush though. Ian waited until he had finished his song before placing his guitar back into its case and descending from the stage. He moved through the stares of the crowd and the hands being placed upon his person for a good show in utter silence, his eyes never leaving the woman and the men accosting her. By the time he had reached them, the barrel of his six shooter was already buried in the spine of the gentleman and his hazel eyes had not moved from the Latina enchantress. [color=a35145]“Partner.”[/color] Ian drawled. [color=a35145]“Now you move one inch, my finger pulls this trigger and I blow your T1 to T4 Thoracic vertebrae straight outta that potty belly you got goin’ on.”[/color] He did not raise his voice and he spoke calmly as he continued on. [color=a35145]“It won’t kill ya but it’ll hurt like heck and you won’t never be able to walk again. It’s my suggestion that you leave a few dollars on that there pool table for the ladies and then you call it a night. What say you?”[/color]

[color=cccc00]“What is he, your boyfriend or something?”[/color] The gentleman hissed behind gritted teeth, already taking money out of his wallet and putting it on the table. His friends were sweating at the sight of the gun. It was easy to tell they weren’t the usual crowd the Bull attracted. Far from it. This bar wasn’t a place for uppity men with trust fund money giving them a leg up in this world. If they wanted to feel a sense of belonging, they should cross the street to the Afterlife. Even then they better be careful who they get handsy with. There’s a dame with poison in her veins ready to protect her girls, without hesitation. One of R2’s best friends. Primrose Lyon. 

The good fellas’ were in no mood to brawl because some broad wasn’t down to fuck their friend. The moment the musician intervened, they were quick to dip, leaving the gentleman to fix his own mess. While he was trying his damndest to play it cool, like he wasn’t scared, Esme could see in his eyes and his erratic behaviour that he was trying to get out of the musician’s proximity and fast. 

What a coward. 

All bark and no bite. 

Shrugging to his question, neither denying nor confirming, Esme lost all interest with everyone but the man who seemed to come straight out of a western film. Tilting her head slightly, her eyes caught in his, she examined him closer, particularly his facial features and stance. He was a good few inches taller than her, with deep depth in his stare. He owned his masculinity but not in a way that would make a woman gag in disgust. With his grit, she could see empathy. Behind his modesty, she could see an Alpha. All of this with how he carried himself. A wider smile curled on her face, looking pleased he got the message without her saying a single word to him. 

When the gentleman left their side and only they were standing in front of each other, she was quick to interrupt the silence in between them and gently tease, [color=bd33a4]“My hero.”[/color] Holding his gaze, she leaned against the pool table. Giving him a sideway glance, highlighting her curves, she slid her hands on the pool table trim. [color=bd33a4]“We don’t get cowboys here often.” [/color]

[color=a35145]“Maybe not the same type as me…”[/color] Ian enjoyed the show she was very obviously putting on. The woman carried herself like a snake, her body writhing and slithering, seductive and sensual, enticing the holiest of men to certain doom. [color=a35145]“But there are cowboys everywhere ma’am. Most only ride in when they’re least expected.”[/color] He placed the gun he had carried to the table into a holster on his waist before tipping his white Stetson up slightly to reveal his handsome face just a touch more. His skin carried years beyond his own. Beneath his collar, the inkling of a hidden tattoo reached up like a hand wrapped around his neck.

Reaching into the pocket of his old faded levi’s, Ian pulled a single silver coin and leaned forward, placing it on the edge of the pool table, directly by the woman’s fingertips. He allowed his fingers to trace hers for a moment before taking a step back. At no point did his eyes break away from hers, from the moment he walked in until their present conversation. [color=a35145]“I suppose, I got next.”[/color]

[color=bd33a4]“I could use a challenge,”[/color] Esme purred as she slipped his coin in between her fingers and rolled it on her knuckles. [color=bd33a4]“One pocket. First one to get eight balls in their pocket wins.”[/color] The rules were simple enough, requiring plenty of skill and accuracy since they both would only have their corner pocket to shoot in. Based on how smoothly he asked for a game, she knew he wasn’t one to underestimate. She was drawn to him but maybe that was because he was the most interesting person at the Bull and not because she felt an immediate connection the moment he laid eyes on her.

Leaving the pool table, grabbing her stick with her, she broke the distance between them, closing the gap. Her body was open and relaxed. She brushed her hair to one side, exposing her neck. Holding his coin in one hand and her stick in the other, she leaned in and asked, [color=bd33a4]“Heads or tails to break?”[/color] They hadn’t even given each other their names yet but there was something unspoken in the way he looked at her. Like her, his name was something earned. By the end of tonight, she’d find out. She was banking on it. Exuding sensuality and playfulness, she waited for his answer, subtly rubbing her stick. Patiently waiting. 

[color=a35145]“I usually take tails.”[/color] She was trying to tease him, to lure him in. With her closeness, Ian could see her breathing, her chest moving to the rhythm of her lungs and heartbeat in perfect synchronicity. That was her tell, like the faint sounds of a rattlesnake in the grass, telling you they were coming and that there was nothing one could do to stop it. [color=a35145]“But I also always allow the lady to go first.”[/color] Ian removed his hat to allow his greying bangs to fall a bit slightly to better frame his bearded face. He rested the hat down on the table and raised two fingers towards the barkeep to signify his want for two more drinks for him and his new dance partner. [color=a35145]“Your move.”[/color]

A coin toss was rarely a 50-50 proposition. Depending on the design on the coin, the likelihood of it landing on the side that was already upright was more probable. Intentionally, she let heads face up. She didn’t want to win this. Esmeralda wanted to see what he had to bring to the table. This was his moment to woo her and she’d let him. [color=bd33a4]“Well then, if you insist,”[/color] she agreed with his statement and continued, [color=bd33a4]“I’ll take tails.”[/color] The coin rested on her thumb and in seconds it was up in the air between them. She was agile and fluid with her movements, and there was so much control, even for a simple coin toss. The toss itself was soft, moving slowly in the air and easy to predict. Her brown eyes never left Ian’s dark gaze. Catching it and placing it on her opposing hand, she smiled before showing the results, [color=bd33a4]“Looks like you win.”[/color] Taking her hand off, she revealed that it did indeed land on heads. [color=bd33a4]“Set us up, Cowboy.”[/color]

This one liked games, that much was obvious and he wasn’t against it. It wasn’t often that Ian was allowed to play games considering his line of work. He spent way too much time on the road, travelling between towns and never laying down a single root. It would be nice to just unwind with this unfathomable beauty. She definitely wasn’t a relaxing presence, in fact everything about her from her almond coloured eyes, to her dangerous curves and body language, it was all designed to build the heart rate, distract and cause chaos. Sometimes a little chaos is just what the doctor ordered.

[color=a35145]“Yes ma’am.”[/color] Making his way to the other side of the table, Ian began to rack up the coloured balls inside the triangle, followed by the ball at the end for them to strike. Pool was a game of patience, skill and marksmanship. All it could take was one slip of the cue and it would be game over. He didn’t like to lose, which was why he never did. Picking up the stick from the nearby rail, Ian leaned down and narrowed his eyes on the ball. [color=a35145]“Two balls. Right corner pocket.”[/color] He struck the white ball and it careened forward, clattering into the others and knocking two balls into the pocket as he had predicted.

Esme wondered how long he would keep this up. If he was good, he could potentially keep going, taking successive shots until his inning was over. His inning would end when he either scratched, fouled, or shot an illegal shot, which simply meant when he went in any other holes than his targeted hole. That was the game of One Pocket. Of course, he could score in her targeted hole, then that would be her point, but she doubted he would. Then again, she didn’t know him and he didn’t know her. 

Esme couldn’t deny she was curious about him and his intentions. She knew one obviously was because she was hot and he wanted to fuck her. She wasn’t dumb. Who didn’t want to touch her body and fuck her senseless? Still, she wondered if he was just as intrigued about her as she was with him. Beyond the physique and body language. Beyond the attraction. How much did he want to know her? [i]Really[/i] know her. Only time could tell. He already shot two in, all he needed was six more than he’d win the game. But that was the thing. She wasn’t here to win nor play if he made this game quick and painless. She was here to watch him carefully. 

This was too easy for him, she could tell. 

A waiter approached them with two beer glasses, placing them on a nearby table. Leaning her stick on the same table, she grabbed one, took a leisure sip, and declared, [color=bd33a4]“I change my mind,”[/color] before daring, [color=bd33a4]“If you can get all the balls in that one pocket, without it coming back to me, I’ll give you… something of mine. If you fail? Well, I guess you’ll just have to kiss me goodbye.”[/color] Her lips curled into a smirk, as she took another sip of her drink. She did love games, that was just how she and her sister spent their time. More so her little sister nowadays since her job didn’t really allow a spa day or a vacation or two. So times like these, where she did have a break in between jobs, she made the most of it. Enjoyed it while it lasted.

Ian had made the mistake of showing how easy it was for him to pocket a ball. He had played his first card a bit too early it seemed but as she could, she changed the game. Something of hers? With someone like this nameless woman, that could literally be anything. She was ramping up the intrigue with every passing glance she offered him. Leaning down to take his next shot, Ian did not look at what he was doing. Instead his eyes stayed locked upon the Latina beauty that was trying to pull on his strings. He struck the white ball again and he knew straight away that it would hit and sink the next ball into the hole. [color=a35145]“Count me in.”[/color]

The game came and went. As expected, Ian won with ease. Since Esme had been playing billiards with men for the past hour or so, she didn’t want to do another game. Instead they went to the bar to talk, continuing to explore each other’s souls with every glance. At this point, the two had indulged in a couple of beers and kept the back and forth going with teasing; the Latina complimenting his obvious skill in shooting his target. The woman’s shoulders eased more, her breathing steady and slow, little creases around her eyes, as she smiled through her stare and her lips. Her painted red, playful and enticing lips. 

Esmeralda was no idiot. She knew simply by how the musician held himself and the depth in his eyes that she was spending time with the most dangerous man in the bar. But she also knew he wasn’t there to work, he was there to find something. Peace? Rest? An escape? Simplicity? Whatever it was, she felt like she could relate. At least, she thought she could. Those eyes drew her in like the smell of her mother’s chicken tortilla soup or the sound of her father strumming his guitar. 

Her cousin Rico was always one of her favourites and maybe it was because his talent reminded her so much of her father. Her dad, Miguel, never did pursue his dreams in music. He chose family at the end of the day and dedicated his life helping her uncle Esteban in any ‘political’ affairs, using his charisma and empathy to strengthen client relationships. When he passed away, he had written in his will that he wanted Rico to have his guitar and his songbook, knowing well enough in time that boy would make something out of his past. His once upon a dream. His dream changed, of course. His dream was in the form of his two little girls and helping them blossom into the beautiful flowers he knew they were. His dream was his love for his family. 

Her mother too held strong values with the family. She was focused on keeping the foundation of the Monteros strong, being the rock for holidays and traditions while whispering advice to her brother. Estefania was intelligent, witty and ruthless when she needed to be. Her uncle would say in passing that if she cared more about the business and not so much about protecting the family, she would’ve surpassed him a long time ago. But family was everything to her. While on the surface she was a woman who owned a restaurant in Little Havana, Miami, giving the Hispanic community comfort food and motherly advice, the reality was, her brother trusted her and her wisdom, and when he was lost he would search for his compass. His sister, the person that would always lead him back home and remind him of the reasons behind his goals. 

And now, both her parents were no longer in this world. 

Esme didn’t know what this mystery man was to her yet. She didn’t know if their time together was only for a moment or for a season, or perhaps even longer. For now, he was here and she was here with him. The intrigue and anticipation was sitting on the edge of their seats as she took another sip of beer. They hadn’t looked away from each other this entire time and she noted a while ago that all he cared about was her eyes. Her body was a plus, obviously, yet he seemed more interested in unmasking her and looking for any secrets he could find through the flames of fire that were her warm brown eyes. She liked that. [color=bd33a4]“What’s your story?”[/color] She unabashedly asked. [color=bd33a4]“What separates you from all the other cowboys?”[/color]

Ian’s thumb traced the rim of the top of his bottle as he looked deep into Esme’s big brown eyes. Their entire game, he had felt the glare from all the other  patrons of the bar. The seductive woman stood out in a crowd wherever she went thanks to her all encompassing beauty, whereas Ian brought attention to himself because of his own visage, an outlaw renegades who had just taken his first steps out of a Spaghetti Western.

His thoughts lingered on her question. [color=bd33a4][i]’What’s your story?’[/i][/color] It was a loaded question if ever there was one. He had heard in the past that unloading onto a perfect stranger could sometimes be the best catharsis a person could ask for. Did he need catharsis? Did he deserve it? Ian Floyd had not led a pretty life. He had not led a good or decent life. To venture down the long and lonesome roads that he chose to travel down, the cowboy had to disassociate the acts that he had committed with his body from his soul. Ian sat opposite the enchantress with only one regret that he still carries around in his heart like a weighted sack full of stones, dare he share that regret?

[color=a35145]“I ain’t never tryna be anything other than what I am.”[/color] He responded. [color=a35145]“I’ve seen and done things that I expect to burn for and I’ve made peace with that. Can you say the same?”[/color]

[color=bd33a4]“Oh baby,”[/color] Esme took a swig of her beer, before finally breaking eye contact. Sighing to herself, she stared at the alcohol inventory, like she was staring into a deep void. Empty eyes and a lost soul. [color=bd33a4]“I’m my own personal hell, already burning. But yeah,”[/color] she replied, resting her chin in her hand and her elbow on the bar top. [color=bd33a4]“I get what you’re saying,”[/color] she glanced back at him, giving him a half smile, [color=bd33a4]“I am who I am. No excuses.”[/color] She understood where he was coming from. More than he likely realized. Or maybe he knew, simply from the way she looked at him, that she too made peace with the things she’s done. She was young, her demons weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, so it made sense to embrace them instead of acting like they didn’t exist. Embrace the storm, become it.  

Whether they were saints or sinners, it didn’t matter. From sins of their past, some rise. Others, on the other hand, fall because of their virtue. Good and evil, it was such a subjective subject. Esme knew she was strong but she was also tired. A storm that most would run from, but she wanted someone to walk into it and not be afraid of all the things that came with committing to her. Her past, her sins, and her family. This was getting awfully dreary and personal. Shifting the tone, she turned her body towards him, her mind compartmentalising the dark so that she could focus on the present. Her beer was left by its lonesome self but that's fine, she had a few and was feeling good. She’d come back to it, or not. [color=bd33a4]“How long have you been playing music?”[/color] she asked, her knees touching him ever so slightly, inviting him in.  

Ian could feel the skin of her knees gracing him with their presence and any other normal hot blooded man would’ve glanced down to look but his eyes stayed with hers. He could see in the darks of her big brown eyes that there was a pool of sadness. The way she stared off and reflected, for a brief moment he wondered if she shared the same thoughts and feelings he did? That was a question for a later date, if there was one, it was not a question for now. Ian accepted her invitation and his tattooed hand wandered down to her knee, his thumb gently drawing circles on it. [color=a35145]“All my life but I never made a single dollar from it. Never tried. Music to me ain’t about money, it’s about catharsis. It’s about words and sounds that strung together can make a cowboy form west Texas, a street hustler from Baltimore and a vision like yourself all feel something deep and meaningful and real.”[/color]

[color=bd33a4]“Wish I could say the same,”[/color] Esme purred, acknowledging that beyond a pretty face, she was a woman of little hobbies. As playful as she wanted to come across, nights like these were rare. She was a workaholic. Once upon a time she and her family would go hiking, rock climbing, biking, hunting, fishing— they were an outdoor recreational family. Though Espie would make sure to always bring her comics and her sketchpad, her father would bring his guitar, and her mother would crochet dolls. Esme didn’t have an art. She preferred looking around and studying the plants and the animals, taking in the stars and clouds, and watching her family in appreciation. She admired people like Ian, like her family. Talented people that could connect souls through their passion. 

Esmeralda wasn’t someone who could connect easily with others. She didn’t know why but she was always like this. It wasn’t like she was intentionally trying to have a guard up. It’s just when she was given the opportunity to make a friend, searching for emotional transparency and connection, she found disinterest instead. People were not worth her time. Her uncle grieves this part of her, blaming himself for not shielding her from the reality of the world at such a young age. He’s convinced himself that there were things his sister hadn’t told him and that his two nieces were exposed to trauma that neither of his own kids would understand. At such a young age too. Esme didn’t think it was that deep. She simply didn’t find most people interesting and was content with her own company. 

Was she lonely? She hadn’t put much thought into it but she would be lying if she said she wasn’t enjoying herself right now. There was something between her and this mysterious musician that she had never felt before and without hesitation, she knew she would follow this unusual feeling and see how long it’ll last. How long it would burn. [color=bd33a4]“My dad used to play music. Never pursued it but as long as he had his family and his guitar, he was happy,”[/color] she responded, her deep, brown eyes softening at the thought of her late parents. [color=bd33a4]“The most I’ve ever felt was when I’ve listened to his songs, and now your’s. At some point I just…”[/color] she sighed, her chest moving with such sensuality. Everything she did, whether she liked it or not, came across extremely seductive. Closing her eyes briefly to feel his caress on her knee, before gradually opening them to fix her gaze with his, she let the silence linger. His stare was intense and full of depth. So much could be seen simply by the way he looked at her. It made her want him. It made her want to know how he felt. 

Silently, Esme drew him in, begging him to take her, as she finished her thought in an almost whisper,  [color=bd33a4]“… stopped feeling.”[/color] Subtly, her expression and body language hinted at her need for intimacy. Heat emitted off her and her smile was enticing.  She could feel the intrigue and yearning between them. This unspoken synergy. She wanted him and she wasn’t hiding it. It was his call, he could shoot his shot. The latina was giving him all the signs in the world. If he wanted to take her, right now, he could.

Ian had learned very early in his life how to remove himself from the ways of feeling. He had made his living for nearly twenty years, ending the lives of others. The only way he could do such a thing without remorse was to remove his soul from the equation. It was his belief that the body was merely a tool to be used by the spirit to carry it across the world. When Ian took on a contract, it was him killing, it was his body, that was the weapon. That was why with every new vessel whose journey he ended, he marked his own body with ink to remind himself of the soul that he helped reach its final destination.

As he looked into Esme’s big brown eyes, despite the allure of her vessel, he was drawn in by the soul that inhabited it. A dangerous, seductive and well travelled soul that felt kindred to his own. Ian stood up to his full height, placing his hands on her thighs as he stood between her legs. He did not say a word as he took a hold of Esme’s hand and led her to her feet and out of the door of the dirty bar.

For a moment, the bar went silent. Two enigmas with such commanding presence walking out, hand in hand. There is nothing more dangerous, more powerful, and more compelling than a woman and a man who know themselves, neither caring if they live or die, yet both coming to the same idea. One idea. And that idea? There was him, there was her, and then there was both of them. Together and ready, to explore this sudden turn in fate. 

There is something we live by, we die by. Of all the pure things, of all that is true, for both sinners and saints. It could be used as a weapon and it can be used to destroy but that’s not all it could be used for. Neither strangers shared their names. Even so, their souls did all the talking. They weren’t people who played it safe and this could be either the start of something wonderful or the start of something torturous. A sweet dream or beautiful nightmare. 

They found themselves in a nearby alleyway. He pushed her up against a wall… 

Whatever this was, it certainly was the start of something new. 
[/indent][/indent][/color]