Marco
Rogue Werewolf
Doorman & Bartender: The Onyx
Nowhere to run, pointless to hide. Just lay there and scream, pretending to try.
Posts: 58
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Post by Marco on Jan 13, 2009 0:49:59 GMT
By now, Marco was used to the interior of Onyx. When he had first started working at the club, it had been a constant assault to the senses; the loud racket of music and chatter, the flashing, pulsing lights, the pungent mix of perfume, cologne, sweat and alcohol. It all swirled together, rather ironically like a cocktail, and it had taken him time, but he barely even registered it now. In fact, outside, it sometimes seemed too quiet, too still. Odd, really, but both sides of him had adjusted to The Onyx so completely that anything else just seemed lacking somehow.
Following the woman’s gaze over her shoulder, Marco chuckled quietly; if anyone would hear it, she would. “I see.” His smile had remained, his head nodding softly up and down. Casting only brief, evaluating gazes up and down the rest of the bar, the tall male decided his co-workers could handle the rest of the patrons without him, at least long enough for him to partake in conversation. “I could say the same,” he acknowledged, opting to stand in front of her with his hands propped casually on his side of the bar rather than cross his arms and lean, the latter of which would seem too intrusive. “You don’t get many people from ‘our neck of the woods’ here in Los Angeles.”
It occurred to him then that introductions were in order. “Marco Vrdoljak,” he offered, even going so far as to extend a hand.
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