The Broken Bottle Pub

[Dillon Rickman]

Dillon perked up at the mention of his lair. It was a vast complex, full of computers, henchmen, death traps and doomsday weapons.

....Okay, that wasn't true, Dillon had to admit. It was the closet under the stairs. But he was working on the other stuff!

"Oh, great, great. I've got this crocodile pit almost finished now. Just need the crocodile. And the pit." He explained, happily taking a swig of the drink he had now been provided with.

[Carla Glenn]

After the fiasco that had been her attempt to organise the legions of Devil's Advocates into a plot to take revenge upon the Night Watch, Carla was alone and in desperate need of a drink. There was a time when she'd have had Devil's Advocates well stocked private bar, full of tuxeodo'd bar stuff desperate to serve her with the perfect cocktails. Now that was gone, and she wasn't exactly a figure to be showing herself in public. She tried to rotate the pubs and bars she visited, but now was getting desperate. This place looked like a real dump, but at least she figured she could drink safely in here.

She pushed open the door and walked in, and although the 'klak klak klak' of her stiletto boots upon the wooden floor boards announced her, she didn't walk with the confidence or swagger you might expect from one wearing them. It was more with the resigned wearyness of one who had had a really stressful day at work. It didn't matter much anyway. Her attire of shiny tight black leather trousers and a red leather top might have attracted attention elsewhere, but hell, in the Town of the Dead that wasn't that unusual. Her long gloves might have seemed a little odd, but again, in this town, oddities like that paled in comparision to other things going on.

She slumped onto the nearest barstool with resignation, ignoring the other drinkers. She hoped they'd ignore her too.
"I'll take..." She looked behind the bar, and decided she wouldn't trust this place to mix her anything, so despite her craving for a fancy cocktail, she settled for saying "...something strong. And lots of it."

[Madoc Wythers]

Madoc nodded and swigged his pint. "Yeah, a pit and some crocs would help if you want a crocodile pit..." He hated to think what would happen if anybody actually let Dillon have a proper lair. He could imagine, and it wasn't good.

He had just put his drink down again when the door swung open for a second time. Curious, he turned his head to see who had walked in and raised an eyebrow appreciatively. His better judgement persuaded him not to wolf-whistle, but he did it in his head anyway. And then he hoped he hadn't just thought-whistled at a mind reader. That had happened before and, needless to say, she had not been amused.

He got the impression that she wasn't looking for company, and guessed that the likes of himself and Dillon would be the bottom of her list. And yet, somehow, he just knew that Dillon would say something. He braced himself for the fights that usually broke out whenever the daft Slayer tried talking to someone who didn't want to be talked to. He looked into his pint, before stealing a sideways glance at the woman, who looked familiar in that why-do-i-know-you-it's-on-the-tip-of-my-brain way, and then at Felix, giving the barman a look that plainly said "You just know Dillon's going to piss her off, right?"

[Felix Dolohov]

Felix gave Madoc a helpless look, "I live in hope, don't ruin it," he admonished pathetically - meaning that he was fully aware that Dillon would piss her off and somehow cause a riot in the process, leaving Felix to clean up miscellaineous glasses, wood splinters, bullets and body parts. So help him, if Dillon kicked off, he was fucking grounded for a week!!

He didn't tell Dillon he couldn't have crocodiles, he wouldn't be able to - "Dillon, you're not bringing crocodiles into the house," the Daywalker told him sternly as he walked over to the frazzled looking woman. He had been thinking that Dillon wouldn't be able to get his hands on a crocodile, let alone bring it back to the house before the EHPD caught wind and came rushing onto the scene. But this was Dillon here, Felix had stopped trying to put anything past him, it just ended in headaches and the great need for a bottle of whiskey at the end of the night.

Speaking of, "Whiskey do you, Miss?" he asked the woman, already reaching for a tumbler.

[Dillon Rickman]

In one of those exceedingly rare Dillon moments of insight the crazy slayer became aware of Felix and Madoc's expressions of concern over the newcomer, who Dillon had only taken a passing glance at.

"Hey, don't look at me." He said, holding up his hands. "I know better than to mess with half demons."

He then felt the inevitable pause at what he had just said.

"What? What I say?" He asked, completely unaware of a) the fact he shouldn't know that and b) how the heck he knew it in the first place.

[Carla Glenn]

Carla took the whiskey gratefully and downed it far too quickly.
"If it kills brain cells, I'm in." She told Felix, trying not to cough and reveal the whiskey had actually just burnt her throat. "Give me a-"

Then she caught what Dillon had just called her, and froze. For a moment, she didn't move, but anybody near the scene would have felt their hairs stand on end. That wasn't a metaphor. It was as though suddenly a static charge had run through the entire bar. (Which, given Carla's unique skill set, was pretty much the truth). The next person to touch a metal tap in that bar would regret it for a moment.

"What..." She said with that teeth gritted calm that people always used when really angry, "...did you just call me?"

[Madoc Wythers]

Madoc groaned inwardly and thought himself lucky that he hadn't done that wolf-whistle out loud. Then he remembered why he had recognized Carla. Nice on, Dillon, He thought, you've managed to piss off the right hand woman of the most powerful Demon ever to hit Edgehaven... He didn't even question how Dillon had known what Carla was, it was usually safer not to bother asking.

As subtly as he could, he moved backwards from the bar, away from the metal railing that ran around the edge. He'd heard rumours about Carla's unique abilities and, judging by the sudden electric charge that seemed to hang in the air, the rumours hadn't been far wrong.

"For God's sake, Fe, do something." He muttered out of the side of his mouth. Madoc's skill with women lay with getting them excited, not calming them down. And besides, it was Felix's bar. Just in case it did get ugly, Madoc glanced around for something heavy and wooden to pass to Dillon, wondering what the hell you should use against an electric half-demon.

[Felix Dolohov]

Felix ran a hand through his hair and quite pointedly threw his dishrag at Dillon, "Mouth shut and I'll let you get the fucking crocodiles," he told the Slayer - stuffed crocodiles, or inflatable ones. Chances were Dillon probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference(1).

He looked at Carla, "I don't give a damn if you're half demon or Satan him-fucking-self," the blond stated flatly, "Anyone and anything is welcome in here as long as they don't start trouble." He turned away from the woman and rummaged under the bar and withdrew the dusty old menu that hadn't seen the light of day since Zack had first come in and ordered an Ale. Damn Felix missed that arrogant bastard, he was usually much more capable of keeping Dillon under control than he was - then again, in situations like this, perhaps it was better the other Vampire wasn't here. Or he would have just made things worse with some kind of smart alec remark.

He slid the menu over to her, it had everything from shots to mixers to cocktails, ale, cider, whiskey, beer, lager, they had quite a large selection of boozes in there and while Felix wasn't an expert, he could make all of them. The not-so-Perk of having an alcoholic for a dad, he used to think it was pretty cool to mix drinks for his dad.



(1) Dillon's inflatable Crocs, why am I suddenly getting the mental image of him hanging some unsuspecting Circle member upside down over a paddling pool filled with inflatable crocodiles while cackling maniacally?

[Dillon Rickman]

Dillon zipped up his mouth (literally with his hand), and sat there tapping his hands for a moment. He got bored pretty quickly though, tapped Madoc on the shoulder, gestured to Carla, and then made a half symbol with his hand, and then threw up the devil horns.

His work done, he returned to his pint.

[Carla Glenn]

Carla gave Felix a long, hard look. She tried to remain calm, but there may have been a slight crackle in the air from her anger.

"Do I look like I'm going to cause trouble?" She asked sceptically. "I'm not the one with two swords on my back." She gestured to Dillon with resignation.

"Maybe, just maybe one for you to consider here, I just don't appreciate being called a demon. You know, hellspawn? Maybe I just came in here for a drink. Just maybe." She ranted, not feeling in the particular mood to reveal who or what she was anyway, and not having a clue how Dillon seemed to know. She wanted a quiet drink, and that didn't involve people riling her up about her demonic heritage.

"There's only one thing I am. And that's thirsty. Another whisky will do thanks. Not sure if I trust you with a mixer yet."

[Felix Dolohov]

Felix inclined his head slightly and took her dirty glass away, getting her a new whiskey in a fresh glass, "Fair enough," he agreed to her comment about the mixers.

That done, he left her in peace and went to serve someone down the other end of the bar.

[Madoc Wythers]

Somewhat relieved, Madoc edged closer to the bar again and picked up his pint. He stifled a chuckle as the dishrag hit Dillon. Then he let out an audible burst of laughter at the mad Slayer's brief pantomime, stole a glance at Carla, who still didn't look fantastically happy, and suddenly his pint seemed very, very interesting.

After a few moments though, he broke his silence and turned to Carla. "That stuff'll do horrible things to you, mind." He said conversationally. "I don't think whisky, particularly not that whisky, is fussy as to what you are."

He took the cigarettes out of his pocket again and lit another one. Apparently drinking wasn't a bad enough habit, so he'd become a chain-smoker as well. Personally, he blamed it on Zack - there was barely a moment when the currently-absent vampire didn't have a lit cigarette on hand and Madoc was, apparently, easily led. Besides, it added to the whole 'bad-boy' image he liked to think he had.

"Course, neither am I." He added, blowing a cloud of smoke in the other direction.

[Carla Glenn]

A few options occured to Carla, and she really wanted this guy out of her life immediately, in a painful fashion if possible, but at the same time, hey, it was nice to be wanted. Especially given how badly things had gone for her lately. And things could get really hilarious later on.

"Yeah, well, horrible things happen to me either way. Don't see the harm in speeding things up a little." Carla rambled in that way of an already-almost-drunk depressent. She downed the whiskey and made a wild gesture for another.

"Really? You the type who goes after anything right? Funny. Thought that'd be a bad idea around here. Mind you...Some people like the wierdos. Even the wolves. If I hear the 'she was a total animal in bed' joke one more time..."

[Felix Dolohov]

Felix chuckled as he returned, "She's got your number," he said to the human, smirking. He cast an eye over the woman who was already pretty tipsy by the look of it but didn't comment, instead he set about putting all the dirty glasses in the washing machine.

[Madoc Wythers]

"Really?" Madoc replied to the barman. "I haven't even written it down yet." He said with a grin. "And I resent that 'goes after anything' comment. I have standards you know." This was directed at both Felix and Carla. "For example, they have to be obviously female. And humanoid." He considered. "At least most of the time."

He took another drag on the cigarette and drank the rest of his pint - Madoc had never been one to nurse a good drink. Flat, warm beer was not a good thing in his book. "And no biting." He added. "Always a good rule to have around here."

He noticed the rate at which Carla's whisky was disappearing and gave her an approving look, wondering what kind of drunk she'd be. From the way she was going, he'd already pegged her as the depressive kind. He hoped she wasn't going to cry - he wasn't good with crying women.