(no subject)

It was a quiet night. Joscelin wasn't expecting results- the Skalds had mostly gone to ground since three of their higher-level members had turned up brutally murdered. He'd planned to stay home, but an hour of pacing his shitty third-floor walk-up had turned into him grabbing his jacket and his knives and going somewhere, anywhere to do something useful.

He'd ended up at the Giant, a place on the fringes of Skald territory. It was a shitty gay bar with a shittier clientele, but a few of the gangmembers were seen there from time to time. With long sleeves, his own identifying tattoos weren't obvious, so he just sat at the bar and nursed a drink, waiting for his prey.