Guessing games weren’t exactly Tig’s thing. He didn’t exactly have the patience for them. Twisting words, turning black into white and black again—that was Clay’s shtick. Or Jax’s. They were the ones who knew how to play a crowd. They could talk a flame down from burning so bright. Tig? He was a man of little words, and the words that did come out of his mouth were usually something that nobody wanted to hear. He let his gun and his sleazy grin do the talking ninety percent of the time.
Still. He’d entertain a little game here and there. Especially when he sure didn’t have anything better to do.
He squinted his eyes at her, unable to hide the smirk that sliced over his mouth, and then gave in with, “Yeah, okay. Y’can call me Tig, blondie.” He rubbed his fingers over his jaw once, over the black scruff on his chin as though in contemplation, gaudy rings clicking together. “My guess? You shoplifted a pair of heels ‘cause you just had to have them.”
Pursing lips together, blonde brows coruscated. Tig. That was an interesting nickname if she’d ever heard one. As for the one he’d given her? She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. It brought back memories of high school and Bowman. Reminiscence she would much rather leave suppressed within the neurotic back burner of her mind. Sapphire hues intently trailed the movement of his hand along his chin whilst waiting patiently for his answer. When he finally came out with it, tiers parted and curled, pearly whites flashing as head hung slightly. Ava should have seen that coming considering her angelic essences. She didn’t exactly fit the criminal profile of a cold blooded murderer.
“–Really?” Nose daintily rustled, head shaking. “You think I look dumb enough to get myself locked up over a pair of heels?” Scoff emitted, finger tracing the brim of refilled glass as gleaming ceruleans brightly met his gaze. She was hardly offended by his stereotype. Perhaps a little flattered instead. “Drink.” Optics averted to replenished crystal sitting before him, then reunited curiously with his. How many tries would it take? The possibility of just how drunk she could get him kept coy grin lingering on her features.
“I’m Ava,” she finally introduced. Fair was fair. He told her, she told him. They were now acquaintances. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a pack of Marlboro lights and thumb brushed binding open. She wasn’t sure if smoking in this particular establishment was permitted, but she’d try her luck anyhow. Back home she could smoke in just about any bar in the county. “Care to take another crack at it, Tig?”
tiggerdontchangestripes reblogged this from ofcriminalgrace and added: Of course, Tig was drinking again. Working down a nice little tally of shots. Couldn’t think of any better way to spend...
ofcriminalgrace reblogged this from tiggerdontchangestripes and added: White filter nestled between lips, thumb struck zippo flint whilst she allowed his icy ceruleans to survey her outward...
ofcriminalgrace liked this 
mercy1997 liked this 
haytchee liked this 
