Tobias was really feeling like shit. He'd paid off his debt to the last junkie for the day, and he was jonesing for a fix or a lay himself, and having absolutely no luck. His head was pounding, his fingers were tingling, and all he had was a cigarette to keep himself company. Fishing that out of his pocket, he lit it with his 'Red, White, and Who Gives a Fuck?' lighter, slipping the lighter back into his pocket, and taking a drag of the cig while he leaned against the dingy wall nearby the dumpster of a club called Wallballs. One didn't have to think too hard to realize that the name was a metaphor for usually went on inside it. Not to mention it was a gay club.
The humanform lucain hadn't had a peaceful night in a while. Following this chick, Lie, was taking its toll on him. It was a good thing that she paid at least halfway decently. His current stalking-target, however, had vanished out of reach, so he was on the definite search for another one. Maybe a guy this time. Mix things up a bit. Spice of life and all. He contemplated the people around him as he took another drag, and blew the smoke into the air. Never could quite master those rings people could make. Not that it would have mattered. A lay was a lay. A smoke was a smoke. The streets were the streets, and shit luck was shit luck.
One wouldn't figure him for much of anything special, seeing him leaning there. His hair was mostly black, with a shock of bright-copper-red left undyed in the middle. It was spiked, and slightly longer in the front, so it stood out like a rooster's crest - but just slightly. His eyes were piercing yellow, and darted from person to person, seeking out something interesting, something fun, something to make this night worthwhile. His clothes were anything to write home about either - black leather jacket over white tanktop with 'Fuck the PoPo' done in black with an emoji heart under it. The jacket had a skull bedazzled onto the back of it, and each sleeve was ripped up and torn. This was a very, very old jacket. It had belonged to a dear friend, once upon a time. His pants were plain black jeans, and he wore black sneakers. He looked like he belonged here.
As he took another drag on his cigarette, he closed his eyes, using his free hand to rub his opposite arm. Nights were sometimes colder than they appeared. Maybe it was just the city itself, but they were almost always frigid to Tobi. And he still hadn't had his daily fix. His dealer was nowhere to be found. It was going to be another long one.
