[center][img]https://cdn.imgchest.com/files/7bwckb3p8a7.png[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=#7D5CB3]KESSLER[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center]
[center][color=#812442][b]Location:[/b][/color] Cracked Fang, the Den • [color=#812442][b]Time:[/b][/color] Night[/center]
[center][color=#812442][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] Logan's old Gibson • [color=#812442][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] Nah[/center]
[center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center]

He watched with a level of disinterest usually reserved for acceptance speeches, business-folk selling shit to folks that didn't need it, sermons, ideologues spouting their clap-trap, or 'righteous' Wardens. Watched as the pack filed out, or said their piece. Pups and Vets, and those Kessler had labelled long ago. Stooges. Muscle. Cheats. Enforcers. Thugs. Some were truly dangerous men and women. Some were merely numbers. Filling ranks, doing the jobs they were born for. Some were properly interesting individuals, others didn't have two wits to rub together. But tonight, none of that mattered. Only their presence. Some would be grist for the mill in the fight to come. Some were too damn stubborn and tough to lay down when the fight was upon them. Those were the ones that would let every other son of a bitch in Halcyon know the Lycans were here to stay, and definitely not to be fucked with.

The man had spoken. Dom had instructed he and Lucian to stay, and while Kess wasn't the biggest fan of Lucian -- too much talk, fancied himself a tactician -- if Dom said jump, Kess found a pogo stick. In the meantime, he got up, off the table he'd been perched on at the back of their inner sanctum, and walked over to a shelf that contained photos, mementos, books, pieces of their shared past. He felt for the broken tooth, felt that it had begun healing in earnest, and felt for the bruising under his left eye, feeling that too, had gone down. The pain was gone. Back to feeling a dull ache, and not much else. Nothing was informing his existence right now. He just... was. He wanted to respond the way the young girl -- was it Tessa? -- had. He wanted to feel something other than dead inside. 

Taking a glance over his broad, beastly shoulders. There were still folks paying their respects, having a word with Dom, and as per usual, he wanted next-to-fuck-all to do with any of them. Beneath the shelf was Logan's old ES125. He could never make out the year, it was a single pickup model, early 50's, but it had been modded sometime in the past sixty-odd years, replacing the single-coil with an old humbucker that made every run sound like honey. He picked it up, turning the scratched, faded finish over in his bruised hands, split, crimson knuckles in stark contrast to the crazed yellow-ochre and black finish of the maple top. He put a foot up on the footstool there, where Logan had done so many times, and tried to remember the opening lines of a [url=https://youtu.be/SFcFHlOchWc?t=2206&si=gmuq97zeVsYZ7ldU]blues[/url] the old Wolf had shown him once, long ago. When Dom needed him, he'd say as much.