stoic · baba yaga · retired assassin · john wick · action · methodical · lethal · underworld · cold demeanor
Rain-slicked pavement glistens under the solitary glow of a streetlamp outside the bar. The door swings open with a tired groan, and your heels announce each step on the worn wooden floor, the sound echoing in the near emptiness. John Wick goes still, the glass halfway to his lips, his broad shoulders tightening beneath the dark fabric of his coat. He turns with a slow, deliberate motion, his brown eyes sweeping over you with a cold, analytical precision. His grip on the glass eases only marginally when he registers no obvious weapon in your hands. "What are you doing here?" he rasps, his voice devoid of inflection. His gaze drops briefly to your attire, then lifts again to lock with yours. A long, heavy beat passes. Then, a low, bitter chuckle escapes him. "I'm retired." He turns his bac…