It only took Declan a moment to recognize what Aoba was saying. His Ghost hovered over his shoulder, large mechanical eyes flicking up and down, doing a quick scan of the blue-haired man before floating away with a quick "Nothing permanent!" and leaving the Guardian to clean up.
"Decker did it again. Fuckin' animal," someone said from around the corner. The white-skinned man simply blinked slowly and watched Aoba, ignoring the muttered dissent from outside to instead focus on the needs of the unfortunate fellow in the bathroom. Declan didn't see Aoba in the bar earlier and didn't think he'd seen anyone entering the bathroom other than the man on the floor, so where had he come from? Had he missed him? Possibly, but still, odd. Odd and largely irrelevant, he thought to himself, silently reaching down with one hand and grabbing the back of the nameless drunk's shirt and pants. Hoisting the man off the floor without so much as a grunt, the Titan turned away and headed for the door of the bar, tossing the man out into the alley where he could wake up later.
"You alright there, boy?" the bartender asked, walking around the corner and wiping his hands off with the dishrag he'd used to flag Declan down. Or attempted, at any rate. The man was obviously human, older, grizzled but not unkind. Scarred and mean-looking, but friendly enough as he waved a hand and gestured towards the bar. "Come on, boy. I'll get you a drink on Declan's tab. He'd offer it himself anyways," the old man grunted, wandering back to the bar as the Titan returned to his stool and his untouched Scotch. He'd only ordered it because a friend of his had said it was a drink better suited to him than his preferred ones: Cosmopolitans, Grasshoppers and Strawberry Daiquiris (which were usually virgin, secretly).
"You alright with a drink on your tab, Declan?" the bartender asked, already mixing a light drink anyways, knowing the answer. The Titan looked up, peering out from behind silky white hair at Aoba before nodding shyly and returning his gaze to his cup amid the grumble and snickers in the rest of the bar. People muttered about the man, rumors, chatter about his brutality, his lack of intelligence, how "slow" he probably was and how they couldn't imagine he was useful as more than a bull-like meat-shield in the field. All of it was ignored by the man who drew lines in the condensation on his glass.
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"Decker did it again. Fuckin' animal," someone said from around the corner. The white-skinned man simply blinked slowly and watched Aoba, ignoring the muttered dissent from outside to instead focus on the needs of the unfortunate fellow in the bathroom. Declan didn't see Aoba in the bar earlier and didn't think he'd seen anyone entering the bathroom other than the man on the floor, so where had he come from? Had he missed him? Possibly, but still, odd. Odd and largely irrelevant, he thought to himself, silently reaching down with one hand and grabbing the back of the nameless drunk's shirt and pants. Hoisting the man off the floor without so much as a grunt, the Titan turned away and headed for the door of the bar, tossing the man out into the alley where he could wake up later.
"You alright there, boy?" the bartender asked, walking around the corner and wiping his hands off with the dishrag he'd used to flag Declan down. Or attempted, at any rate. The man was obviously human, older, grizzled but not unkind. Scarred and mean-looking, but friendly enough as he waved a hand and gestured towards the bar. "Come on, boy. I'll get you a drink on Declan's tab. He'd offer it himself anyways," the old man grunted, wandering back to the bar as the Titan returned to his stool and his untouched Scotch. He'd only ordered it because a friend of his had said it was a drink better suited to him than his preferred ones: Cosmopolitans, Grasshoppers and Strawberry Daiquiris (which were usually virgin, secretly).
"You alright with a drink on your tab, Declan?" the bartender asked, already mixing a light drink anyways, knowing the answer. The Titan looked up, peering out from behind silky white hair at Aoba before nodding shyly and returning his gaze to his cup amid the grumble and snickers in the rest of the bar. People muttered about the man, rumors, chatter about his brutality, his lack of intelligence, how "slow" he probably was and how they couldn't imagine he was useful as more than a bull-like meat-shield in the field. All of it was ignored by the man who drew lines in the condensation on his glass.