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Post by pietro on Jul 23, 2012 21:05:11 GMT -5
Pietro sighed. Damn it was a slow night. Stupid bar. But this bar was the only bar in Italy that served Thomas Hardy's Ale, and at the perfect age of five years. Beyond that, it got syrupy. Before, just raw and tasteless.
Yes, he could've gone to England on his night off. But he wasn't very fond of what England classified as "lookers". They weren't his taste.
Italians, however... The accent, the long dark hair.... And this bar, being an English pub in Florence, attracted an interesting group of individuals. It was too dodgy to attract tourists, but held too much mixed culture to contain just the Italian sort. He loved it. Dart board in the corner that he could show his skill with, impress the ladies… Or ‘Oooh’ and ‘Aaah’ over some strong man with large muscles. Not that he was into that sort of thing. That was Wanda all the way. He also liked the swivel chairs, so he could scan the whole room quickly. And with his superspeed, he could do it without anyone seeing him.
So, all in all, a fine place for a bored speedster, pretty much hiding from every major hero that knew his face to find a fuck buddy for the night.
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Post by grayson on Jul 25, 2012 23:49:30 GMT -5
Dick walked into the bar, for once not bothering with his shades. An out-of-the-way place like this, in Italy on top of that, wasn't going to hold many people that would recognize him. Still a few people did, the other few Americans that somehow knew of this place, and immediately approached him. He accepted a drink from one, a conversation from another, and then turned them away, not interested in those who wanted his attention solely on who he was. At least, not tonight. He had used that particular asset before, but tonight he wasn't.
Dick returned his attention to the drink in his hands. The only reason he was here in Italy in the first place was because of some Wayne Tech conference that Bruce had been too busy to go to. And that's why he now found himself in this back alley bar, trying to get away from all the media and press and attention. And looking for a good fuck. That would certainly help things. "Una altro birra, per favore," he said to the bar tender when he was free again. The drinks would help. Then he could start looking around for someone to spend the night with.
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Post by pietro on Jul 26, 2012 0:01:31 GMT -5
Pietro watched the man out of the corner of his eye. Oh, of course he had noticed him as soon as he had entered the bar. There was no way you couldn’t have noticed the slight swagger, the crowd of Americans that had immediately swarmed him with attention, little mewls of “Grayson, ooh Grayson!” Echoing around the bar. Normally those types of people, not his type at all. He rather avoided them. But when they looked like the man in front of him… Well…. That was a different story.
He swirled in his chair, using the counter for a back, and sipped at his English beer. So the man spoke Italian. Not that strange, for someone of his apparent caliber. But for the life of himself Pietro could not place the name. ‘Grayson’ was not on his vocabulary of the fabulously wealthy and famous; At least, not in his world. So this must be a young billionaire, or a young billionaire’s heir, from the other world. All the better reason to get to know him. But Pietro would only try to wring him for money later on. Tonight he merely wanted a nice, good fuck. Someone to entertain him on his day off, and not much more.
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