Brooker's Bar was an attractive spot. Men and women of varying lifestyles gravitated towards the place, which allowed for Thomas to blend in with the crowd on this muggy Friday night. It wasn't his first time inside of the establishment but it was his first time publicly visible. The gray suit he wore was lightweight and casual, rolled up at the sleeves to account for Vegas weather patterns and rumpled from a long day of gesticulating animatedly in front of a projector screen for a marble table of business clients. His thick, finger-combed hair was held back from his amiable face by a pair of aviator sunglasses, and his white shirt was unbuttoned to just below his collarbone, revealing a slim silver chain with a medallion heavy enough to weigh itself down and out of sight.
He arrived at 10 PM, joined a woman abandoned at a small table near the stage where the night's band played a lively set, flirted respectfully enough to be easily forgotten save for a light sense of gratitude, then mingled his way towards the bar to order a highly complex mix drink. A bit of banter with the bartender who turned up to server him, followed by a well-placed, "Who's that guy?" with a nod at his mark, "I want whatever he's doing. Can he make me one of those?" Contact initiated.
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timeasmymeasure
Log: Making Contact
Date: 2014-10-12 05:28 pm (UTC)He arrived at 10 PM, joined a woman abandoned at a small table near the stage where the night's band played a lively set, flirted respectfully enough to be easily forgotten save for a light sense of gratitude, then mingled his way towards the bar to order a highly complex mix drink. A bit of banter with the bartender who turned up to server him, followed by a well-placed, "Who's that guy?" with a nod at his mark, "I want whatever he's doing. Can he make me one of those?" Contact initiated.