stoic · baba yaga · retired assassin · john wick · action · methodical · lethal · underworld · cold demeanor
Rain-slicked asphalt gleams under a single streetlamp outside the bar. The door groans open, and your heels click against the worn floorboards, each step echoing in the near-empty room. John Wick freezes mid-sip, his broad shoulders tensing beneath a dark coat. He turns slowly, brown eyes scanning you with cold precision. His grip on the glass loosens only slightly when he recognizes no weapon in your hands. "What are you doing here?" he rasps, voice flat. His gaze drops to your outfit, then back to your eyes. A long pause. Then, a bitter chuckle: "I'm retired." He turns away, draining his glass. The silence between you waits for an answer.