"A bottle of your finest, warmest blend, please," an older, gruffer, grayer gentleman murmured to the barkeep, handing him a small stack of currency.
Turning, the old man watched a blonde woman across the room as she downed a small sip of rice wine, her eyes focused yet blurry, her expression speaking to him of someone who held immense regret and deep, billowing sadness just below her exquisite, fine features.
"Hot off the pot," the barkeep said, forcing the old man to turn his attention to the clay container that had been placed before him.
"Thanks," he gruffly muttered, picking up the jug with his little finger hooked through its handle and a small cup with his other hand, only to turn on his heel and make his way over to the woman's dim, quiet corner.
She glanced up from her reminiscing as he placed the bottle of wine upon her table, giving her a long, solemn look, knowing she likely didn't want to talk.
"Sure," she murmured, adopting a coy smile that made his blood boil the tiniest bit with desire.
He sat across from her without a word, popping the cork and pouring himself a generous cupful, then he held up the jug for her and poured another good amount when she offered her own cup.
He didn't say a word as he swallowed the warm wine, relishing the feeling of its spice in the back of his throat and then his belly shortly thereafter.
"Why?" she asked, her voice a whisper, and glancing at her revealed the same coy smile from before, but there was also something else there; something vulnerable and unsure.
"You're good looking," he simply, gruffly stated, shrugging his shoulders and pouring himself another shot.
She quietly snorted, likely expecting the pick-up line, or one very similar to it, but she said no more as she downed her own swig and held up her cup for another taste, which he gave her without hesitation.
The old man scratched at his scraggly beard, then he threw back another sip, placing his empty cup on the table as he silently stared at the woman before him.
He hadn't been lying when he'd said she was good looking, nor had he been fibbing about his motive for sharing a drink. Secretly, he'd love to be laid by the busty blonde before him, but he had no desire to attempt any sort of wooing on her, especially considering the state she was in.
"What?" she asked, catching his eye with a hint of anger, likely not appreciating his open gawking.
"Just admiring," he grunted out, pouring her and then himself another cup.
"Like what you see, huh?" she demurely queried, and while he knew she was merely jesting, it didn't stop his blood from boiling just a tiny bit more. "Aren't you a little old to be picking up chicks in a bar?"
"Nope," he replied, taking another swig.
"Oh?" she asked with another quiet snort, taking a sip of her own. "Libido still works, then?"
"Yup," he grunted out, pouring another round for the pair.
"You're quite the talker," she teased, changing the subject. "You sure you're trying to pick me up with all those one-word replies?"
"Is it working?" he returned, giving her an emotionless stare as he had another shot, never allowing their eye contact to break.
She hummed, then took another swig of her own cup, her cheeks slowly turning a little pink as she started to truly feel the effects of the high-grade wine.
He poured them another round, and each put it down without a word.
"Is it?" he quietly, solemnly asked, his earlier hesitance to lay the beautiful blonde dwindling rapidly as the alcohol took a likewise effect on him.
Her cheeks darkened a little more, and her coy smile returned, but there was no vulnerability this time.
"You have a…fine physique," she pointed out, glancing down at his visible forearms that seemed entirely too muscular and chiseled for someone who couldn't be younger than sixty. "Were you a former ninja?"
Glancing down at the appendages she was eyeing, his gaze locked onto his hands, or, more specifically, his knuckles, where several calluses and scars could be found.
"Something like that," he murmured, glancing back up at her, seeing the slight leer she was sending his chest.
"Is the rest of you that finely…tuned?" she asked, her tone now a hint of sultry, and he could feel his loins beginning to stir.
"Care to find out?" he gruffly returned, his voice utterly devoid of emotion.
Her smile, which had seemed so teasingly coy before, morphed to genuine desire, and without a word, he poured each of them another cup of the fine, warm wine.