<div class="floatleft">(http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/45/31/0e/45310ed9cd6dd045be76a075e78d1a49.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Santiago Leon<br/>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=257949.msg13244699#msg13244699)<strong>Alias:</strong>Purple Ranger<br/><strong>Time/Date:</strong>Evening/October 1st<br/><strong>Location:</strong>BYOB Pub<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Bence, Kara, Vivienne, Isabella<br/><hr/><br/><em>So much for 8-ball.</em>Santiago thought, remaining idle as Bence made his outburst. He couldn't knock the guys perspective. The entire day had certainly been farfetched, and exaggerated conclusions preoccupied more than enough of the boxer's own brain after his previous ring-center brawl. During Red's birds, a blackened eye had been surveying the other bar-goers from over the purple-striped shoulder of Santiago to make sure none of them were acting suspicious after it was exclaimed that the assembled group he was now a part of were murderers. That much he could have done without, but for whatever odd reason, it barely drew any alarm. The fates must've been smiling on them because what a turn that could have been.<br/><br/>With a subtle sight of relief, Santiago turned his face back to his supposed allies just soon enough to catch Kara following after the fuming Bence. Luck and charisma she'd probably need to get the steam out of him. The other ladies did not seemed to be phased, however, as he noticed them passing him on the way to the bar already with Vivi leading the way. Leisurely he followed the pair from behind, but not too much as to not give any insight as to where his actual attention was. Perhaps the summer attire wasn't too bad. Now, to figure which of their passengers were getting their kicks out of covering the late Prince's Purple Rain.<br/><br/><div align="center"><em>Here we go...</em><br/><br/><strong>That's not me, by the way.</strong><br/><br/><em>As if I wouldn't be able to tell the difference from your male voice and another's after earlier.</em><br/><br/><strong>Oh, you remembered!</strong><br/><br/><em>You mean Death incarnate? Relax, She-Devil.</em><br/><br/><strong>Whah, whah. Don't test me if you don't want it back.</strong><br/><br/><em>Please, god no.</em><br/><br/><strong>Hehe...</strong></div><br/>Once at the bar counter, the Latin joined in with the petitie Asian and, contrastingly, long-legged Latina on ordering a drink. Moments later, their full glasses were placed down, the caramel cokes being served with a charming, Derek smile to Isabella and Vivienne while another Sailor Jerry on the rocks was given to Santiago, the smile gone. Already knowing what the bartender's concerned expression was about, one of Santiago's hand rose to his pierced lips to make a quick drinking gesture as the other went for his wallet again, but stopped mid-way upon seeing a manicured female hand offering a credit card to Derek, that bright smile reappearing. It seemed being old school was actually old news. "More and more it seems the color fits, then. Gracias." Gripping his drink, he made a toasting motion to the almost-as-tall girl. "Salute." Afterword, with the tilt of his head down but not too much as to not stare into her cleaveage, Santiago turned to Vivienne to do the same, noticing the ice cream she previously held had disappeared. "Hm... And salute to you too, surprising one." The final gesture to the attractive goth had been followed by a large first gulp. It was a celebratory one since the karaoke appeared to be done.<br/><br/>Santiago returned to the billiards area with his drink shortly after Isabella made her way to her table, and had assumed Vivienne would be joining as well. Nonchalantly he had picked up the pool stick that had been discarded to the floor, and calculatingly began to flare it around as if it were a sword. Memories from earlier were clearly on his mind before the long stick was briefly set back down atop the tables green surface. "So, you guys fought an eyeball?" His words were loud enough for the nearby girl to hear, and Vivi too if she was there, despite being muffled by his sweater as it passed over his to reveal his upper torso clothed by a black tank top. The exposing of his arms revealed scratch marks that looked to be practically infused within the tattoos that lived within the tightness that were the muscles of his shoulders, biceps and forearms. With a toss that took much ease, the sweater had been thrown across the way to the top of a vacant table so Santiago could once again grab the pool stick to begin a quick shoot-around of his own. One by one, the athlete would set up the cue ball, lean over to aim, and knock in either a stripe or a solid into a hole without much pickiness, just force and finesse. Being in the presence of women, the pressure to do well was definitely lingering.