Taste Your Toxicity (MHA AU) (Temp Hiatus For Editing)

Rigor Mortis

DAMIA'S POV

Loud music is booming as Soon as you walk around the corner, coming home from work you decided that a Cold drink didn't sound to bad. While looking around the street for any bar you see a group of guys go into a building with a sign, 'Rigor Mortis'. "That's not very comforting...let's just hope he's here so I can leave..." You thought, approaching the body guard.

This body guard for the bar looked more geared than he should be for just protecting a bar. As you walk in after getting your ID checked, the body guard yells back at you; "keep an eye out for Scarface."

"Scarface? Who could that possibly be?" You muttered under your breath as you took a seat at the bar. A giant metal fighting cage is in the middle of the room instead of a dance floor ..."Shit...This is a brawler bar" you thought, while looking around you noticed a pair of footsteps from above you.

"Come in here all by yourself, huh?" A rough voice rains down from above, as you look up your pink eyes meet some otherworldly blue orbs.

Scars...
He's..Who I was warned about...and ironically who I'm after.

As you look up you see he's gone from the metal catwalk.

"Where did he go?" Above you, are the echos of thick heels walking around. "He's still up there?" While walking around you found a door that was labeled 'catwalk' so upon entering you were met with a set of stairs. When you get up to the catwalk there is a man trying to open up the balcony.

The door is locked, lock hangs on a chain that clacks on the door, the man's trying to open it, but not with a key....a small blue flame coming from his thumb causes the lock to burst in to shrapnel sending pieces everywhere. "Woah! What are you doing?" You say in shock.

A cold chill goes down your arms and neck as he faces you. He clears his throat at you as the door creaks open, the dim lights from outside illuminated his face, you couldn't help but stare...he was like a painting.

His eyes narrow, he turns to face outside. "You don't have to stare." Your eyes get wide as you start to giggle. He stops walking out onto the balcony and glances back at you. "It's not my fault you look like a piece of artwork." You said, it clearly caught him off guard. He finished turning around.

This man was Hot. His scars trail from his jaw to his chest, crossing his neck and draping down to his shoulder, and back down both of his arms. Through his white shirt you can see the purple color popping from his other scar near his stomach. He had Black jeans with stapled stitches that went around his thighs twice and then around his knee and a set of black boots with a heel, topped off with a white belt hanging around his waist.

"Wow.." you're speechless. "You're..." He reaches into his pocket and grabs a pack of cigarettes and leans back against the railing, lighting it with his finger. "Just spit it out," he breathes, anticipating an insult.

"You're like a piece of art from a gallery..."

He goes silent and looks you up an down, twice. "Excuse me?" He gruffs.