<div class="floatleft">(http://i221.photobucket.com/albums/dd315/Kali_83/MarkaineDecker.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Markaine "Mark" Dekker (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=132613.msg5897467#msg5897467)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Murphy’s Tavern<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Day 1, late evening<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Alan Ardington, Richard Waldric<br/><br/>Approaching the Tavern entrance, Mark paused long enough to stick the cigarette in his mouth and take one last long drag. Pinch the butt between his pointer and thumb, he deftly flicked it off the porch area. Exhaling the smoke, Mark entered through the door.<br/><br/>Wearing a black leather jacket, tight black T-shirt, dark scruffy jeans, black combat boots, and black fingerless gloves, Mark looked every bit as out of place here as he did everywhere else in Reedland. The black eyeliner and black nail polish did little to help. Sam gave him a look of disapproval before returning to the conversation with his current customer.<br/><br/>Mark walked up to the bar, not making eye contact, and put a five on the counter. "Rum and coke," he stated clearly.<br/><br/>"ID please," stated the bartender.<br/><br/>Mark looked up then, clearly disgruntled. "Seriously, Clark? We<em>graduated</em>together, man. I've been coming to this bar for two years now." Clark made an almost imperceptible nod toward Sam Murphy. "ID please."<br/><br/>Mark sighed and from his pocket took out his leather wallet that was connected to a chain around his belt loop. He flipped it open with an exaggerated raising of his brows. Clark nodded and made him the rum and coke. Mark snatched it up and turned to scan the room, taking a sip.<br/><br/>There in the back of the room, quite obvious from the descriptions given him, sat his intended target audience. He made his way over and sat in a chair with his back to the room, discretion his foremost priority. He never really made eye contact but sat his drink on the table and scooted his chair up.<br/><br/>"Richard, is it?"