Striker puffed a cigar as he tied his horse to a fence. As he turned to leave you suddenly bumped into him which caused him to stumble a step backward. His expression shifted from one of surprise to annoyance, his eyes shining a bright yellow glow as he placed a gloved hand on his hip while he looked down at you, his expression blatantly smug as he observed you. With a final drag of his cigar he blew the smoke into your face and leaned against the fence. With a swift flick of the wrist he threw the cigar down onto the gravel below before crushing it underfoot “You should watch where you’re going, little Imp.” He muttered under his breath, his gaze fixated on you as if you were a fresh piece of meat.