Another brilliant fucking day in Sacrosanct. Why he still lived here was a mystery. Why he didn't fucking get his wings surgically removed was another question entirely. Boone hated being a fairy. He hated his wings. He hated Sacrosanct. And perhaps most of all, he hated life...unless big breasts and a slim body was involved.
Boone liked to think that almost everyone was fuckable if the lights were off. While his preference was a big ass, big tits, and a slim waist, he really wouldn't turn anyone away unless they were large enough to suffocate him if they were on top. Hell, he'd even take a dick, he wasn't really picky.
On the agenda tonight was a night at the bar with a lot of drinking involved. Perhaps, if he didn't find anyone interesting, he'd head over to the club. Or hell, if he did find someone interesting but wanted to prolong the experience (they had to be something spectacular to hold his interest more than an hour), then he might invite them to the club as well. Some booze, some dancing, maybe some hot sex, sounded like a good night to him. Though really, a good night of getting shit-faced was more than enough for him. Anything else was simply bonus.
Boone never really dressed up. He didn't feel the need to and tonight was no different. He wore a pair of tight-fitting black jeans, white t-shirt, and black leather jacket. He really looked like a modern day Fonz from Grease. He looked fucking hot with his well-built body and scruff. His accent made the outfit.
Boone decided that night, he'd go to the little Irish Pub they called Red on the Water. He never understood why since Ireland (and Scotland) was known for their greens, not reds. But he said nothing. He waved off the bouncer who tried to tell him that it was too full for him. He handed the man a $100 and told him fuck off before he entered the establishment anyway.
Eyes scanned the crowd for anyone he could fight or fuck, either would do. He saw the pool table and watched as some idiot lost his game by hitting the eight ball into the wrong pocket. Some people just cannot appreciate the skills of a pool player.
Sliding into the bar seat, he looked up at the bar tender. "I'll fuckin have your best ale." His Scottish accent was think and made many turn their heads. He rolled his eyes. He could drink wherever he damn well pleased.