Creativity Must Be Present {Oneshots for The Boiz(tm)}

Black-Eyed Brawler

Sage Lesath x Male Reader

[Wrote this to 'BAR FIGHT MUSIC' by Lil' Darkie. Feel free to partake in the vibe.]
[Oh yeh, ur tall in this bc everyone deserves to feel taller than Sage Lesath.]
[[WARNING!!: Very much violence, little bit o' sexual tension-]]

   "Sage, where do you think you're going?" Anisa called after him, watching the poofy end of his tail whip around the corner as his reply echoed off the stone walls.
   "I'm just goin' to blow off some steam! Relax!" He spins on his heel, peeking his head back into the room before leaving entirely.  "I'll be back before sunrise." He smiles at her with a mischievous glint in his golden eyes, ignoring Felix's scoff accompanied by an eye-roll so massive you could see it from miles away.
   "Just don't track any blood through the Tower when you finally return!" The shorter yells, huffing when he realizes the man has already split. "Took me weeks to scrub those bleeding footprints clean."

××××

   The route to the nearest tavern was one Sage had been long since familiarized with; he knew not just the shortest route, but the longest, the busiest, the deserted, and the most sketchy. But today, he wanted to get there as soon as he could as to not waste the time frame he'd given himself. Soon as he rounded that block corner, the acrid stench of scoundrels, drunks, and the sub-par booze itself flooded his nose, bringing a smile to his lips and an eager spring to his step.
   The Saucy Gull; home, sweet, shithole home. Only the best shithole in Porrima, of course. He swung the doors open and made a beeline for his usual spot at an old, grimy, unoccupied table, taking the risk to lean his chair on it's two very rickety back legs and kicking up his feet, digging his heels into the soft rotting wood of his table. It wasn't until a few minutes of shitty tranquility that he sat up at made his way to the counter asking for a drink. It also wasn't until a few minutes of semi-decent peace that the doors slammed open, a tall (lanky, hefty) figure shadowed by the midday sun.
   Stepping inside, the low light of the lanterns posted amok the establishment plays across his features, casting sharp shadows over every angle of his person.
   He wore a shirt that looked like a cross between a tunic and a blouse. The sleeves had been torn off at the shoulders and the lacing was dragged all the way down to his mid-torso, the string woven loosely through the eyes, allowing an ample amount of (s/t) skin to be shown between the gap. Though his shirt seemed to be one of a kind, his pants were nothing particularly special. The only other notable feature of his appearance — clothing wise — was a bright (f/c) scarf wrapped around his waist and tied off on his hip, leaving the remaining fabric to hang freely in two different sized lengths.  However, though his getup wasn't flashy enough to be someone infamous, the scars that littered what skin was exposed told a different story.  Sage's gaze trailed from his colorful knuckles up his arms, catching every mark and divot on them until his eyes caught on his seemingly unblemished chest. His brows automatically furrowed in both confusion and curiosity as his golden eyes continued to travel until they eventually met a pair of (e/c) ones; at first, the Ilephta felt any words he was going to say get lodged in his throat. But he didn't break gaze, catching the hint of a daring excitement in them.
   "Shut your mouth 'fore you catch a fly." The smirk that followed his sarcastic voice was as dangerous as his eyes, Sage felt his cheeks start to burn. He hadn't even realized his mouth was wide open. He snapped his jaw shut and turned his attention back to the tankard in on the counter in front of him, seeing it was now full he nodded a surprisingly silent thanks to the bartender.  Suddenly, whispers kicked up all around the bar like dust on a well-loved carriage trail through the woods. He could feel everyone's eyes pinned to his back and he didn't like it. His ears flattened against his head and he glared at nothing specific, taking swigs of his drink every now and again. He'd be reluctant to say he was a little startled when the stool beside him scraped against the floor, creaking as if to let him know someone was settling on it.
   "You look peppy," one more pair of eyes, only these ones were clearly looking him up and down like a child eyeing a piece of candy — if the child was a jaguar and the candy was a lone gazelle. Sage suppressed a shudder as he gritted his teeth. "I'll have what he's having. Looks like a good time." As his tail flicked back and forth in annoyance, his eyes narrowed and shifted to his right, glaring daggers at the man who was apparently restless for attention.