[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] Body tilted back, chair balanced precariously on two legs, Kingsley looks like something torn from a magazine and glued to a different picture. There are three others at the table: one leans forward, shoulders hunched, and the other two sit straight with their chins tilted up.

The game is boring because Kingsley is winning and he has never quite known what to do with a victory other than move onto the next. They are running out of money and Kingsley is running out of interest, but the last few coins keep him seated. If he is going to win, he wants it to hurt.

Someone plays a card. Kingsley glances at it, at his own hand, then back around the bar for a brief moment when he's certain none of the other players are watching him. For a split second, he meets someone's gaze. It lasts just long enough for his chair to tip forward and land on its front legs.

"I fold," he says and he spares them only a brief smile before collecting his earnings. The hunch shouldered man begins to stand but by the time he is on his feet, Kingsley is gone.

He slips into the space between Dominic's seat and an empty one. Empty, he thinks, because Dominic has the sort of face that warns people to stay away. Kingsley leans back against it, bracing his hands on the cushion.

"Hey sweet thing," he says, lips pulled back into a lazy grin, "you got a name or can I call you mine?"

[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] The smoke twists and fades into the air and for a moment, Kingsley watches it before his gaze lifts back to Dominic's own. He pretends to consider the statement. He folds a hand over his jaw and hums, head lolling side to side. His eyes glint, creasing at the corners. When his hand draws away, he's smiling. Kingsley aims his index at Dominic in the imitation of a gun.

"I've got it. How've you been - " he says, pausing for emphasis, "Nicky?"

He pushes himself into the seat and leans back, tips of his toes balanced on the floor.

[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] Kingsley's grin widens as he sees the look in Dominic's eyes and he knows, for a second, he's won - and this is the kind of victory he can indulge in. He folds an ankle over his thigh and rests a hand on it.

"Is that an indirect way of calling me cute?" he asks, fingers drumming at the hem of his pant leg. His foot fidgets in the air in a lazy attempt to match the beat of whatever song is playing. Kingsley's gaze flickers to the approaching bartender then back to Dominic.

dominic sinclair

[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] Kingsley fishes his wallet out of his pocket and thumbs through it and his new earned money. When the bartender returns with their drinks, he slides the bills across the counter then takes his glass. Curious, Kingsley sniffs it then swirls it around.

"Anything exciting going on in your life?" he asks before lifting the drink to his lips. He sets it back on the counter, face scrunching together. It burns the back of his mouth and down his throat and leaves a stinging taste on his tongue, one that won't wash away easily.

"Fuck, that's strong," he hisses.

[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] Kingsley swipes his thumb against his mouth as if that will somehow help rid the taste left behind. He eyes the drink with distaste. They both know he'll drink it anyway.

His gaze slides back to Dominic, flickers to the gleam of white teeth, then back to his eyes. Kingsley matches the smile (if it can be called that; Kingsley likens it more to a houndoom's grin) with a smaller one.

"Work," he answers, mimicking the roll of a shoulder, "meeting old friends."

He leans back, looking decidedly proud of himself. Kingsley grabs the glass and rests it against his thigh, eyes still locked on Dominic.

dominic sinclair

[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] Kingsley makes a sound, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. He takes another drink, forcing his face to stay neutral as he sets it back down. Setting his elbow on the table, he cradles his jaw in his palm and looks at Dominic.

"Aww- we do! Really," Kingsley assures, waving a hand flippantly against the air. "You're my bestest best friend in the whole wide world. No one could replace your snarky ass in my heart."

He slaps the same hand over his chest and laughs before it drops down against his thigh. He smiles in a lopsided way that makes a dimple crease into his cheek.

dominic sinclair

[attr="class","igglybuff-wrapper"] There is a small delight in making Dominic laugh, in earning an expression that is more than passing apathy. Maybe delight is the wrong word. Perhaps it is more like satisfaction, in the way a persian might feel when it corners a rattata. It is some sort of small, meaningless victory.

Kingsley matches Dominic's movements, grabbing his own drink. The glass hovers at his lip. He lowers it just enough to talk and pin Dominic down with a look of faux offense.

"You don't take me seriously?" he asks. "How dare you. Am I a joke to you, Nicky? Is that it?"

dominic sinclair