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HELL ON WHEELS, [ Tag ;; open ]
Posted: Oct 14 2012, 09:02 PM
Member No.: 148
Joined: 17-May 12
[ Coming From: Passive Aggressive ]
Dark browned oculars gazed intently at the road ahead, breathing in the whiff of fresh air that hovered through him like a strong passing wind, produced of course by the increasing speed which he drove at. It was about 150 miles per hour, a cop would have been obligated, by the law, to pull Johnny Blaze to the side and sanctioned him for his reckless speeding. Should it happened, if it did, Johnny wouldn’t care. Chances were he would have likely increased the speed of his motor vehicle, with intentions of outrunning the law enforcer, and leave behind a faded trail of oil and burnt smoke, if that was even possible. He shrugged his shoulders, continuing his ride well until the night, or morning, considering that it was already past midnight in this mildly crowded city of Manhattan.
Nights like these were those Johnny spent stalking the streets, with his demonic senses lurking around the corners, prying over those who prey on the fearful. He could scent the smell of criminals and vagabonds performing whatever task earned them such titles. They needed to be taken care of, their sins needed to be charred, and their soul, cleansed. That aroma, that ever lingering odour, it stung like the urine of a skunk. It was nauseating, yet had eccentrically lured his demonic self towards it. It led him to a bar. One that made him raised his eyebrows the moment he parked his bike beside the many other Harley Davidson that were stationed by the side of the establishment. Johnny curiously made his way towards the entrance, walked past the sign that read Outlaws, marched straight into the tavern.
His stare hovered around the packed crowd like a watchful owl. No one seemed to give him any sort of attention, for the mere fact that he appeared to blend fairly accurately with the rest of the crowd. They were all dressed like him: leather jackets, jeans, some ripped, all carrying the appearance of men and women who would likely get stereotyped for being members of the Hells’ Angels bike gang. The surprise was nothing to be overly concerned about, Johnny shrugged his shoulders and impassively made his way towards the bar, ignoring the few bickering individual who shouted at him, or towards him. He did give a subtle grin to one cute lady who nodded at him, however, she was a waitress, and chances were she was probably trying to make a good first impression if ever it occurred that she was stuck with having to serve him. No, Johnny didn’t think that through, but it was something to take note of for the average reader.
He arrived at the counter with his broad shoulders spread, and his stature imposing, just slightly. In his human form, he had never seemed like much of the intimidating type—even his voice didn’t and had likely never covey such desire. His other self however, he had that presence in him, to simply frighten those who dare stare at him. Of course, it helped when you had a flaming skeleton for a head. “Coffee?” was what the stuntman ordered when the barman approached him; those who were around the devil’s vessel laughed out loud, mocking the man who had just walked into a bar to order a cup of coffee. The bartender too, joined, and laughed as they all looked at Johnny, and he back at them, nonchalantly, quite impassively with his blank stare. “A shot of whiskey it is then,” he grinned subtly, indicating that he was merely joking… just a little. Once the alcoholic beverage arrived to his hand, the man took a sip of his drink quite swiftly, and turned to face the crowd. Two idiotic and barbaric men appeared to be trying to fight one another, such only made Johnny smile as he gazed on curiously. Itching for some action of his own despite his evident I don't give a damn attitude.
[ occ: crappy, I know, but I was rushing it ]
This post has been edited by Ghost Rider: Oct 15 2012, 08:29 AM
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