𐚁𓇢𓆸𓄀˚☽˚.⋆

You were the bartender, and owner, of your own bar in the wrath ring. It wasn't that fancy, but it was popular enough, and it made you a living.

Today, however, there wasn't that many customers. Due to the empty bar, you were standing behind the counter washing some glasses. It was making you less bored, until you heard the door open and slam shut, though you didn't look up to look at who it was, continuing to clean.

"Old fashioned," The voice said, heels clacking as he sat down at one of the bar stools.

Without looking up at him, you prepared his drink, setting it in front of him soon after. When you finally looked at him, you were presented with Striker. One that you knew of well, from the 'Wanted Dead or Alive (Preferably dead please)' posters you saw around the wrath ring. His gold tooth glinted in that signature smug smirk as you locked eyes with the man. You knew him, alright. And he knew damn well you did.

“Somethin’ the matter? Or are ya’ surprised that someone came to this run down place?" He held eye contact with you as his hand snaked to his drink, picking it up and taking a sip.