Luka Rhys Delaney (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
desperatebeliever) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
noirenewyork2014-01-31 10:40 pm
desperatebeliever) wrote in noirenewyork2014-01-31 10:40 pm
"Lately I'm a desperate believer..."
Who: Luka Delaney and Molly Pierce
What: "There's no changing yesterday."
Where: Knightshead Liquor, New York City
When: Thursday evening
Luka had become a stalker... but it was truly just by accident and out of desperation than anything else. The one person he wanted to talk to in New York City, and she was apparently the most infuriatingly elusive woman to reside in the massive place. Or New York was easy to blend in to. He had a feeling it was the latter more than anything. He had her name, but nothing else and it had to be a relatively common name too. There were about five thousand M. Pierces in the New York phone directory. It didn't help that Luka was flying blind and had no idea about this huge city beyond the fact it was as full as fuck of weird people (who probably thought he was just as weird) and he was freezing his arse off. He came from a scorching Aussie summer to this, and he wasn't a fan. But he really was desperate, so he purchased and iPad and then hooked up to the Wi-Fi in his hotel room to start Googling her.
There wasn't a lot, but there was something. She was, in some way, connected to Benjamin and Eric Knight, founders of a company called Knightshead Liquor that had headquaters here in New York City. That was enough for him for now, and hence his transition into creepy as fuck stalker. He was embarrassed for himself really, but what other option did he have?
It was evening, the sun set a short while ago and send the City that Never Sleeps into darkness, and therefore more freezing as fuck weather. Luka was standing on the sidewalk out the front of the Knightshead Liquor skyscraper looming above him. He lit up a cigarette, leaning back against the wall with one foot resting on the marble façade behind him. He was a bit of a mixed bag in his appearance. Black leather pants that laced at the front, black Ugg Boots, a pink sequinned t-shirt under a purple velvet couture jacket. His curly hair had gotten long against, hanging in his eyes that were lined with guyliner and he was in a shade of lipstick that complimented his complexion. Even if, these days, his complexion was pasty at best.
He lost track of time waiting, but as soon as he spotted the woman finally exiting the building, he pushed away from the wall and intercepted her path. His cigarette was only about half-spent, so he held it out and away from her but wasn't willing to just put it out. "You killed my best friend," was his blunt greeting, his Aussie accent blatantly obvious.
What: "There's no changing yesterday."
Where: Knightshead Liquor, New York City
When: Thursday evening
Luka had become a stalker... but it was truly just by accident and out of desperation than anything else. The one person he wanted to talk to in New York City, and she was apparently the most infuriatingly elusive woman to reside in the massive place. Or New York was easy to blend in to. He had a feeling it was the latter more than anything. He had her name, but nothing else and it had to be a relatively common name too. There were about five thousand M. Pierces in the New York phone directory. It didn't help that Luka was flying blind and had no idea about this huge city beyond the fact it was as full as fuck of weird people (who probably thought he was just as weird) and he was freezing his arse off. He came from a scorching Aussie summer to this, and he wasn't a fan. But he really was desperate, so he purchased and iPad and then hooked up to the Wi-Fi in his hotel room to start Googling her.
There wasn't a lot, but there was something. She was, in some way, connected to Benjamin and Eric Knight, founders of a company called Knightshead Liquor that had headquaters here in New York City. That was enough for him for now, and hence his transition into creepy as fuck stalker. He was embarrassed for himself really, but what other option did he have?
It was evening, the sun set a short while ago and send the City that Never Sleeps into darkness, and therefore more freezing as fuck weather. Luka was standing on the sidewalk out the front of the Knightshead Liquor skyscraper looming above him. He lit up a cigarette, leaning back against the wall with one foot resting on the marble façade behind him. He was a bit of a mixed bag in his appearance. Black leather pants that laced at the front, black Ugg Boots, a pink sequinned t-shirt under a purple velvet couture jacket. His curly hair had gotten long against, hanging in his eyes that were lined with guyliner and he was in a shade of lipstick that complimented his complexion. Even if, these days, his complexion was pasty at best.
He lost track of time waiting, but as soon as he spotted the woman finally exiting the building, he pushed away from the wall and intercepted her path. His cigarette was only about half-spent, so he held it out and away from her but wasn't willing to just put it out. "You killed my best friend," was his blunt greeting, his Aussie accent blatantly obvious.