Welcome to the Slaughtered Lamb Bar

[davidsons]

Welcome.

Outside wages a war between Angels and Demons. The Rapture happened a long, long time ago, and not many people have gotten their peace at the supposed "end of days". Most just ended up lost in the crossfire.
Here, at the Slaughtered Lamb, neither angel, demon nor human raise a finger towards anything or anyone. Most angels don't really like mingling with the humans, though, and most demons don't enjoy the drinks much, but either may be found lurking and watching.
But for humans, it's a good place to stay for a while, have a drink, and forget about whatever minefield might be out there.
Just be careful about the twins, and don't upset the bartender. Those three are a bit too touchy-feely, and not in that good sense.

[Want some of background story? Here you go.]

Comments

[davidsons]

[Worries are for sissies, gay bartenders and sisters. Lips upon the bottle's brim, she laughs before taking a sip]

Do I have a reason to be?

[halves]

[He adjusts himself on his seat, slowly, relaxed.]

Like I said: [His attention finally sets on his own bottle, palm and fingers curled around it to feel the temperature.] Not yet.

[davidsons]

[A smirk, one that is usually seen in war veterans, former druggies, lone explorers, war reporters. It's that cynical type of smile that's warm like a highway that had just been asphalted, limp, lazy and bound to stick and stink.

She wasn't too far from those.

Her eyes narrow. That kind of drive is a bit unusual from someone like Giles.]

Planning on it, huh? What's the occasion?

[halves]

I'm here. [Still getting through each day, some better than others. There are days when he thinks that's far from a cause for celebration, so he ends up locked up in his own apartment waiting for time to pass by, not entirely sure he wants the mood to slip away or to just turn into nothing. Other days he takes up a new excuse to be self-destructive away from home and all night long.] You're here. What else do I need?

[davidsons]

[Her eyebrows shoot up for a moment. That was kind of forward for Giles, but it was the good kind of impression that the comment landed onto.] That's very Carpe Diem of you.

[She listens to the ruffle of feathers behind her. The wings are merely metaphorical, really, but they're audible - it's a rustling in the air an angel causes when something that keeps it on its toes or a little more... agitated, that sounds similar to wings but isn't really the case; just a switch of frequency. Murdering Latin so willingly was good cause for it, especially because every angel in the vicinity is bound to hear dead languages even if they're whispered.

She sticks a tongue out over her shoulder. Neutral grounds, neutral grounds, neener neener.

Hopefully these were fickle angels and were likely to forget about her.

Hopefully.

Otherwise her ass is so going to get singed if she leaves that bar alone that night.

Well.]

Some more drinks, probably. If you do want it to get rough.

[halves]

[The sound doesn't reach him with the same significance it does her - an odd detail, yes, but nowhere near a cause for concern. He follows her provocation with his eyes, quirks an eyebrow curiously and waits for her to resume conversation.]

I'll take what I can get. [a beat.] Friend of yours?