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He drew a long drag on his cigarette, and snorted, which made him puff smoke like a dragon. It wasn't the most comfortable sensation in history, but he'd gotten used to it a long time ago, and he prefered his own cigarettes to the foul, treated stuff people sold in little paper boxes. Smelled like smoking a combination of outhouse and chemisty set to light up one of those things, though people often gave him an odd look for his hand rolled ones until they realized that it was just good tobacco they were smelling.
Sweeter smelling, cleaner even, than the smoke from regular cigarettes, he enjoyed the smell, and the way it covered the faint smells from the city. He wanted to get back out to the country again, but things were a lot more complicated 'out here' than he ever remembered them being. It was a damned shame really. You could barely cuss without someone throwing a fit, let alone what had happened when he'd said 'redskin'....it made him hesitate to use other terms, which was, though he didn't know it, an very fine idea.
Everything was just too damn wierd. Like here for example. Sitting in an outdoor table in the corner of an coffee restaruaunt. (An entire restraunt dedicated to coffee??? And then they look at you funny when you ask for 'black'.)....
People were still glaring at him for smoking, but no one was saying anything, just sitting further away. That worked just fine by him.

Bat leaned back in his seat, rocking it back onto two legs with a draconic puff of smoke. The shirt he'd been wearing didn't make him look less so, though he still felt...awkward in a shirt with one sleeve, which left his tattoo visible to the world. He was less comfortable with it than he had been when he got it, it meant a bit more these days, things he didn't like.
Although at least, he reflected, he wasn't quite as eye catching as the young man over at the other table. The one in the crazy clown hat.
Clowns were supposed to make you laugh, but this one didn't look like he was preparing to perform, which begged the question why he was all gussied up like that, when he wasn't doing anything but having a bite. Maybe there was a play that had let out or somethin?
"....Whats with the get up?" He called over, finaly, gnawed at by Curiosity. "Carnival ain't in town....."

Bat paused over this information, taking the cigarette from his lips and eyeing the glowing end for a moment before continuing, as though he was stingily measuring his words, as though that rather than his thick accent explained his droped sylables. "Thats some pretty eye catching a-ttire then." He noted, purposefuly drawing out the word 'attire'. The best he could figure was that the young man was some kind of actor, or maybe he was just playing things up a bit, because he sure didn't look happy to be having the conversation underneath his pasteboard smile. The kind very classy people used to get when they noticed you'd just tracked mud three steps onto their big ugly rug.
Still....he'd never been one who could walk away from the temptation to push the envelope just a little, as though daring people to call him on what he himself was trying to hide. He dropped the chair to all four legs with a thud, matched by the scrape of his booted feet hitting the ground as he pulled himself up smoothly, the cigarette put back between his lips to be growled around as he extended a hand to introduse himself.
"Bat King. You act, or somethin?"

Bat pulled a slight face, though it was difficult to tell exactly what Harlequin had said to make his expression take that somewhat sour turn, or if maybe it was just the cigarette pursed in his lips.
"I dun see how it's theatrical...." He noted, perhaps that was it? And added. "...Not much right at the moment." He admited. "Not a lotta call for my normal line 'a work. Not that I can find." It wasn't exactly an answer, but neither had Harlequins been.

"Vampires?" Bat noted, with an raising of his eyebrows and a abrupt snort of laughter. "I aint no vampire. An' King's just the family name." Perhaps he had sounded a bit ominous, which amused him. He'd never thought of his name in such light. It was though, a shortened version of something. Bartholomew actually. He hated Bartholomew. Feeling like they were playing some sort of odd Poker, he shifted the Cigarette in his mouth slightly and exhaled another jet of smoke, thinking before he offered.
"I used t' ride Shotgun for folks on the move. Your turn."

((XD I just saw what elf you got! You got my favorate one! XD congrats! I can't wait to see him played!))

"...Aint nothin glamorous about shootin' people. Nor gettin shot at. Or shot." Bat snorted, shaking his head slightly, though Harlequin's comment made him think of something a little bookish man had said once.
"Hey someone said somethin like that once. I don't got it right but it was somethin like: "People see that their nose crooked and they say it's the mirrors fault...something like that, eh?"
For a reason he couldn't imediately explain he felt a tinge of guilt at saying this, as though maybe he were also guilty of such behavior, and studdied the back of his own hand with an furrowed brow.
"....Well I aint a fop, and far as I can tell you aint a fool. You do look like a man that needs a drink though."

"I was sayin' I aint one of them snoot-suits." He gestured vaguely in reference to one of Harlequins earlier comments. "But there also aint anything wrong with having another drink once you're finished with that 'un." He pointed out, which apparently in his eyes was not only reasonable, but normal. Refusing to be bought an drink? Madness!
He himself had only a passing appreciation over the difference in how wine looked in a crystal glass versus normal glass, being just as happy if it had been served in a tin cup, just so long as it was served. Still, he raised his own glass, probably whiskey by the color and the shake of the glass, and downed what he was drinking.
His own fingers were surprisingly faintly delicate. A little long, which made his otherwise rough, calloused hands look deceptively effeminite, and his motions a little more fluid, but his serpentine grace was an odd clash with the rest of him. Like two strangers stuck in an elevator, it elbowed uncomfortably with his rough manerisms, rough skin and strong lined features.

"Well I was offering to buy but thats your call." He shruged slightly, glancing away before it slowly dawned on him that Harlequin was staring, then snorted loudly and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Like I said...your call." He grumphed, uncertain what to say, and since he couldn't exactly figure out a way to call the man on staring at his hands.