Maybe it was just the fact that he was entirely too new to this city, or maybe it was just the chronic insomnia that he suffers from on an endless basis despite this disorder rolling in and out like the ocean tide, but it had been another shitty night for the were. One might think that he would be used to it by now, and to an extent he more or less was. He was used to feeling that blissful sensation of falling harder than he ever had for the prettiest faces he'd met under din lights and deafening bass as he would slip into the worn covers only mere moments after dropping his head onto the cool surface of those double-stacked pillows which really should have been thrown out and exchanged for new ones. He was familiar with - on most nights - having little to no hardships falling into the black abyss of sleep where so many would walk the world of dreams as they fell further and farther from the throes of reality. And then, like some cruel joke, just when he would allow for himself to think that perhaps he might be able to steal a full night's sleep, the man would awaken for no reason in the damn world. And so would the tossing and turning would begin, that unbidden restlessness having him rolling in those sheets to try for just one more hour of the sleep that eluded him all tell often. There had once been a time where he would try almost with a viciousness to pull himself back under, to feel his eyes grow heavy all over again as he would finally grasp onto the shreds of remaining twilight hours, all to finally drag himself out of the warmth belonging to his empty bed with exhausted and seething anger that he had been robbed of yet another chance at a reasonable number of hours lost in the embrace of slumber. He couldn't even remember if this was something he's always suffered from frankly, but it didn't matter. Sound sleep was scarce for the were, and he despised every moment of lying awake staring at the ceiling to see if maybe he might get lucky.

He hardly ever does, though. The man always had better odds of just saying "f*** it", throwing on a decent pair of relaxed-fit jeans, a plain t-shirt of any color, his favored jet black Polo Ralph Lauren leather racer jacket, completing his simple yet decent attire with immaculate black nikes and walking down to the nearest bar to find a lovely little lady who would fall for devilish charms so easily accompanied by words of flattery Levi was very much capable of and melt right into his arms. This was just one scenario, of course. He was quick to learn that some females might prefer a guy that looked more brooding and thoughtful or perhaps a guy that was straight to the point with a "no bullsh**" attitude as he would make his intentions clear. He had never needed flashy clothes like tuxedo vests or expensive blazers to get whatever - or whomever - it was that those dark eyes of his would find an interest in and lock onto like the predator which stalked the shadows of his debonair grin he had zero problems giving to just about any pretty creature that just so happened to wander across his light of sight. For Levi, it was a game and he's become rather talented at. Hell, he was almost as talented at being a heartthief as he was a thief of material and non-material things. Sure, the were has had his moments were he struck out, even getting slapped in the face a time or two or finding himself locked in a tussle with the boyfriend he didn't initially see walk into the bar with the woman he was chatting up, sometimes winning and sometimes losing and thrown out, forced to walk the rest of the way home to tend to the black eye and various other kinks and bruises he would earn. Oh yes, the man was certainly confident to a fault, but he wasn't ashamed to admit that he'd had his ass handed to him a time or two. Like that would ever be enough to make him give up on what he considered to be the best thing next to those stupidly rare nights where he would actually get a full night's sleep. Both would leave him ensnared in a wicked pleasure he would never want to leave, so he's learned to embrace each like they were the very things that kept his heart beating.

He runs a strong hand through thick, deep brown hair as he lays there in his bed with the covers resting just over his waist, heavy lids blinking over smoldering eyes slowly, tiredly. Whatever. With a groan, he sits up and throws defined legs over the side of his creaky old bed. He was tired of just lying there waiting for sleep that apparently could not be coming for him tonight, and so he does what he always does. Pushing himself into a stand, the stainless-steel chain around his neck clinking subtly against the resounding silence save for the sounds of traffic outside, bare feet touch down onto cool and scuffed hardwood flooring to the small, run-down apartment he was only just able to afford. He takes the few steps needed to make his way from the side of his head to the bi-fold closet doors. With a gaping yawn, he reaches for the knobs, pulling the scratched and chipped wood so that they open to reveal his array of t-shirts and jeans all hung up lazily on cheap dollar store hangers. Trailing fingers through his hair out of a habit he hardly notices, lazy eyes glaze over his choices only to select what he always did. He snatches a pair of faded blue relaxed-fit American Eagles and a simple yet surprisingly spotless stark white t-shirt. He slips into both, first stepping into those jeans before pulling the shirt over his head, enjoying how the fabric fit just tight enough to show the chiseled muscle underneath. After slipping on a pair of socks, he shuffles through the doorway leading into rest of the Riverdale apartment and into the small bathroom to his right. As was the normal habit, he reaches for the gel and styles his hair as he always has it, swiped ever so precisely to the right, a few stray strands rebelling against the rest much like the were himself. Satisfied, he gives the reflection staring back at him a lazy grin."Well, here goes nothing", he says in deep tenor tones before departing from the bathroom and moving towards living room with bare and stained white walls he'd moved into just two short days ago, grabbing the nearly empty keychain with nothing more than the key to his apartment and heading out the door towards who knows where. Time to learn the layout of this place.

Far from bothered by the warmth of the late afternoon, he walks with the tides of the crowd along the sidewalk. He pays no mind to those that bump into his broad shoulders as he does little to fight his way through, his pace very much lackadaisical as molten chocolate eyes glance with little to no interest at the signs hanging over every entrance to various department stores and grocery markets, though he does store the names and certain landmarks that might prove to one day come in handy. As he walks along, he lifts one of his hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket to scratch idly at the exposed white fabric of his t-shirt, fingers brushing carelessly against the metal that hung around his beck and rested over his sternum, the gesture almost thoughtful as he continues down 7th Avenue, where the crowd seems to grow a little thinner than it had on the main street he'd followed for a while. He hardly had a problem with people in his personal space â€" most times â€" and this was far from the most crowded city he'd ever lived in, if anything feeling rather comfortable knowing that he would have a sea of bodies to slip into when if he needed to make himself scarce. It was only a matter of time anyway, before the man found himself in some sort of circumstance that might require a hasty exist. Shoving that hand back into the pocket it so often sat in, he continues making his way idly down the street when he sees something that catches his interest. Red on the Water? Sounds like a good time, he thinks as he comes to stand there in front of the tinted windows. What kind of name was that? Better still, did he even want to know what sort of individual the owner was? He had an idea... But like it mattered. Reaching for the handle, he makes his way into the irish-style pub. This was a first for the were, never having found himself in an establishment quite like this one.

Looking around for a moment, inevitably his dark gaze makes its way over to the polished oak of the bar. And that's where he sees her. She was quite the pretty thing, no doubt about that. Smoldering eyes drink her in, starting with her hair a few shades too light of midnight black, and if he were a poet he would have considered the shade to be the night sky a few hours before dawn in a way, but Levi wasn't the romantic type. Her sun-kissed skin almost glows in the dim light within the pub as she sits there... all alone. There's a roguish grin that etches itself onto his chiseled and masculine features as he watches the bartender slide a glad of amber liquor towards her, a kind and almost warm smile dancing across soft lips as she thanks him before taking that first sip. He meanders between tables and takes the empty stool next to her, sliding easily into the seat, turning to face her as elbows find the smooth surface."A girl that likes the harder stuff, and cute to boot. It's not every day I see someone like you", he says smoothly before turning to lock eyes with the bartender who is looking at him expectantly."I'll take some Red Stag over ice if you've got that", he says then and the man nods, turning to fetch a glass and the bottle before pouring the amber liquor a shade lighter than her own, the satisfying sound of crackling ice delightful against sensitive ears before the bartender slides the glass over to Levi. He doesn't take a sip quite yet though, looking back to the pretty woman beside him, curious about the reaction his presence would conjure up from her."I'm Levi. What do they call a beautiful woman like you?", he asks brazenly, confident in every syllable that slips over his tongue as he now lifts that glass to his lips, but not without looking away from her as he does so.

Now, this could go several ways, and the were was more than eager to find out just what cards she might want to play tonight. Would she be sweet and shy? Annoyed that he ruined her alone time? There was only one way to find out. Leaning against the bar, he watches her like the animal in him would something new and interesting, because to him she was exactly that.