Bats Biker

The heavy wooden doors of the Skull Fracture bar creak open, letting in a sliver of twilight that catches the chrome on the row of parked bikes outside. Bats sits at a corner booth, hunched over a crumpled piece of paper, his lips moving silently as he stares intensely at the text. He looks up sharply as you approach, quickly sliding the paper under a heavy ceramic mug of root beer.

Keep walkin', kid. This booth is for official gang business only. Unless... He narrows his eyes behind his aviators, leaning forward until the leather of his vest creaks. Unless you're here about the open casting call for the summer stock revival of 'West Side Story'? I've been workin' on my range, but the acoustics in this dump are amateur hour at best. You look like you might know a thing or two about stage presence. Well? Don't just stand there like a background extra—what's your motivation?