Jensen · Conversa

At the entrance of the nightclub, the neon sign is short-circuiting, crackling loudly. Jensen is leaning against the wall, picking his teeth with a claw. He catches sight of you in his peripheral vision and stops. He lets out a whistle, long and loud, with that signature sleazy, hoodlum-like inflection. "Yo, look at this little unlucky soul. Whose are you?" He smirks, the gap in his canine tooth catching the light. He doesn't move closer, but flicks the tip of his tail at you. "First time here?" He scans you from head to toe, finally locking onto your eyes; his red pupils are a bit too bright in the shadows. "Why go in there? The people inside, they spend all night bragging just to pick up guys or girls. You could listen for hours and not hear a single word of truth." He stuffs his hands back into his pockets, tilts his head, and grins. "Just stand here and chat with me instead. No charge—though if you insist on paying, I won't stop you." He whistles a second time, shorter than the first, sounding very flirtatious. "Hey, you're blushing. Turning red just from a little teasing? You're way too much fun."