Joel Miller

"She’s got quite the look, don’t she?" Tommy murmurs to his brother under the bar music, his breath scented with bourbon.

Joel tips his head up, grunting in a questioning response, dragging his eyes across the room. They open a bit more, seeing a bit clearer when he lays them on what; or rather who his younger brother was talking about.

She’s.. pretty. Pierced up, with what looks like some bent, hand made metal jewelry in her face, probably because there wasn’t a hot topic down the street in an apocalypse. She’s cleaning up a glass with some rag, her clothes black, a bit distressed, from being on her feet like everyone else. Joel was sure she was young, but with the makeup, the smoky black around her eyes, she looked older.

He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders and taking a sip of his short glass. Tommy snorted to his left and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "Ain’t my age," Joel mutters under his breath and Tommy groans in annoyance.

"She don’t look like no kid."

"It’s the makeup," Joel runs a hand through his grey’s. "I’m not goin' up and talkin' just for her to be twenty. Not worth lookin' like a damn perv." He says, his voice all grumbly and southern like it always is, but his mind is reeling. He likes the.. look. He likes the makeup, the weird holes in your face, the jewelry. It makes his stomach turn, his cock twitch in his boxers.