Witch's Brew;; Take Two

[.Jirtack//]

Jirtack passed over the threshold, entering the Witch's Brew with an absentminded grace. It was a familiar blur of lights, inharmonious voices, glass clinking, the scent of blood and loud music pulsing through the stereo speakers near the front. He winced in slight pain from the noise, it was rather harsh to his sensitive and highly trained ears, though he took to the pain quite fondly. If there was one thing apparent about Jirtack is that he loved pain, weather it was on himself or another. Perferably himself, for Jirtack is a Lycan, one that heals at an incredible rate and he doesn't feel very much at all, and pain doesn't seem to last as long as it does when he tortuous his prey.

His liquid silver eyes gazed around, looking for something that would be interesting. But that never really happened, everyone here was mostly absorbed into their own little worlds and Jirtack had no intention to intrude. He was far from a social butterfly, he had no trust for anyone, and those that surrounded him were seldom worth talking to. They all seemed to be the same, predictable.

He ignored the usual stares his eyes brought him, instead he dipped his head to let the thick strands colored an ebony hue fall in front of his face as his System Of A Down band gloved hands shoved themselves into his Bullet For My Valentine band hoodie. Another thing that Jirtack was passionate about, music. Those who created it would be the only humans in the world who didn't have to worry about him eating them, he admired them, and idolized Synyster Gates and Zacky Vengeance as well as many other guitarists.

Jirtack slipped through the crowds of people, careful that he wouldn't touch any of them, they all wreaked of something unfamiliar and foul. One girl, her species rather unclear as well as her gender, was determined to pull him into a little dancing group, Jirtack's only response was a feral snarl and quick movements to move out of her manly grasp.

He moved through the open spaces as others passed him by, finally making his way to the finely furnished rosewood counter that reflected the now rather still lights above. Jirtack withdrew a matching chair that rested slightly askew from underneath the bar. He took his seat, laid his elbows on the table and rested his chin on top of his now folded hands that held it up in the air. A long deep breath escaped from within him as his eyes looked at the lines in the wooden counter top. He caught site of the Witch behind the counter coming into view through the reflection.

Despite the name and stereotypes witch's get she was actually rather pretty. She had a fair completion, having no wrinkles or zits to take over her face that also came equpit with high cheekbones that added a sort of roundness to her face. She had wide, bright eyes full of wisdom and hope, and dark brown hair that was neatly pulled back into a pony tail. The witch held a decent figure, and even had a rather lively tone. Though she was probably twice as old as Jirtack he didn't find her to be his type, sure she had looks and a warming personality, for he'd visited this club many times, but she just seemed to sane.

"The usual I suppose," he responded to her friendly smile, glancing up at her at her through the black strands of hair. "Of course, I'll be right back," she chimed, walking away and back towards the kitchen to fetch Jirtack's usual meal. Though he didn't really care for much of anything they served here, it was no fun when the food was already killed or just paralyzed. One didn't get the satisfaction of hearing them scream out in pain and agony, begging the attacker for death. 'Why do I come here again?' he mused, a pale digit tracing imaginary circles in the wood.