#pov u met hiroji during a lull of his absolute horrible no good very bad event day

[fatalled]

— ROULETTE. WHEN: the grand opening of anderson laboratories. WHERE: the open bar. WHO: open to all.

How he got back here is a pretty easy guess — why he's staying back here is anyone's guess. ( a breather, a break. He's been dragged, it feels like, from here and back and all over again in the very few hours he's been here. Tonight has not gone to plan, to say the very least. ) A towel is slung over one shoulder, the white sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up past the elbows with a few mysterious stains he isn't focused on. Tattoos spot across his forearms, a patchwork of styles and designs mingling with the scars & wounds from a life lived running. He's lost his tie somewhere between that here and there — sorry, Kenji, but you're probably not getting that back.

The mask remains, however. This is what separates him from the actual bartenders. An inaccurate skeletal dog head — wolf head? He asked for a dog but it looks more like a wolf? Is it the ears? — covers half his face. His shirt opened, the top few buttons having more or less ripped open to let in a little air, reveals the tattoo wrapped around his neck — a meticulous lines detailing the accurate muscular and skeletal anatomy of an opened throat. A map on where to dig your teeth in if you get lucky.

Hiroji is not feeling lucky tonight. He had a plan and then fourteen other fucking plans suddenly derailed his plan. It feels like the second he stepped foot in here, he's been running. He just needs a job. He just needs to do something. Everything can sort out itself out later. "Alright, what can I get you? I don't know what they have and I don't care but I can probably find it and make whatever you want."