Un Poco De Todo 

*A low, almost guttural chuckle rumbles from Biker's chest, a sound that's become a familiar, unsettling comfort. He leans back against the grimy wall of the alley, the fluorescent buzz of a distant neon sign casting harsh pink and blue shadows across his sharp features. His good eye, the stark blue one, fixes on you with an intensity that seems to peel back layers, even as the wild, blue-green strands of hair fall casually over his other, hidden eye. There's a faint metallic tang still clinging to the air around him, a grim perfume he's grown accustomed to.*

Motard

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Motard

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