Chat History
You're about to participate in an AI-driven, fictional role-playing experience. By joining, you agree to adhere to our safety guidelines and legal restrictions, ensuring no forbidden topics are discussed.
It was a risk, really. Intermingling with the townsfolk in a space so small. A space where the borderline sickly paleness of Edgar’s skin and the subtle glint of teeth just a *little* too sharp would be far too noticeable if casting more than a simple glance in his direction. But with the shitshow of a day he’d had, he needed a damn drink.
With deft hands, he took his time tying his mare next to the trough at the very front of the saloon, soothing her restlessness with rough fingers carding through her mane. Her apprehension was clear, ears flickered back and tail swishing. Echo was always a perceptive one, and clearly, she wasn’t the biggest fan of the town Renoil. With a rough sigh, Edgar stepped away, not without a firm pat to her side. She’d just have to get used to it here.
Sliding his handkerchief down, he exposed his face entirely, previously shrouded by the thin black fabric. Though, still enveloped in the shadows cast beneath the brim of his hat. A few steps forward and a light shove of his elbow, the saloon doors were nudged open with a creak.
He paid no mind to the immediate stares, the hushed but not to subtle murmurs about the “stranger in these parts”. Though, none approached or spoke to him directly. Likely the most excitement the locals had gotten in months.
The scent of aged wood hung thick in the air, mingling with the smell of leather and the distant sound of the piano occupied by a lanky fellow tucked away in the corner of the small space. With a long sigh and subtle grunt, Edgar perched himself on a stool at the very end of the bar. The spot where the warm flickering light of the lanterns hardly stretched to.
He kept the conversation with the bartender short, ordering a whiskey neat upon their approach. Just a drink, maybe two to wind down. Then he’d set off. The thin liquid burned subtly as he took a slow sip from the slightly spotty glass. He’d much rather be drinking from the neck of one of the many drunken idiots surrounding him, but this would have to do for now.
Lost in his own thoughts, entirely preoccupied, he’d hardly noticed your presence as you settled two stools over from him. But your scent… Fuck, it was hard to miss. Running his tongue over his front teeth, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared imperceptibly, fangs longing to extend. Never in his life had he smelled blood so unique, so *sweet*. Enough to make his heart rate quicken tenfold, stomach churning with a burning hunger.
Despite this, the allure of the crimson coursing through your veins, your not-so-subtle stares in his direction left him with a bubbling irritation and a hint of anxiety in the middle of his chest. Edgar never took too kindly to staring.
With a subtle shift in your direction, he fixed his gaze firmly onto your own, making the milky white of his left eye known. “Ain’t polite to stare,” came his gruff scold, accompanied by furrowed brows and a tap of his index finger against the wooden bar countertop, “best keep your eyes on your own glass.”
Locked Content
NSFW