Drink Up!

[forsaken]

Certain Death, that's what this was. As much as he despised bloodthirsty werewolves this place must surely be their haven. Rats as large as house cats scurrying over the ruins, the stench of dead bodies filling his nose. This could be the capital for murderous wolves. Yet, here he was waltzing in like as if he owned the place. Technically, he probably could. By the crappy houses lined along the blocks, Azazel guessed that he could probably buy the place from the city for a little over half his fortune.

The Australian Werewolf had little interest in staying here long, let alone buying the whole section of town. He'd already decided he wasn't going to stay past dusk. No need to get into a brawl his first night here. Of course, the first place he was attracted to in this hole was a local bar. It appeared more of a hovel than a bar, small, low roof, but the inside was packed with round wood table and a very small counter where a large red-head woman was cleaning glasses.

Well, maybe good 'Ol England isn't all that different from Austalia afterall, Azazel mused.

He walked over cooly, his slick brown hair beat against his cheek with every step. He pulled up a stool, and looked intently at the back of the bartender, who was still cleaning the glass.

Casually, he allowed his dark brown eyes to sweep over the room. it was about 5 PM and the bar wasn't all that crowded. The people looked norrmal, depressed, and dirty. None looked too talkative.How was he supposed to get any information from this energetic bunch?

"Hey, lady!" Azazel said, loud and already annoyed that he may have wasted his time. "Get me a Foster, cold."

[Malorie Cohen]

Malorie had assured herself, that she hadn't fallen off the wagon, you could be in a bar and not drink, which the cyclops certainly wasn't doing, instead, she sat aside, a soda water in front of her and her hands in her lap, watching the people intently.

She never felt better than when she was surrounded in a room of people more desolate, downtrodden and bereft than herself. Which it seemed that certain pub had those sort of people in spades. It was late, and the only thing left were the people who were too insomniatic or too miserable to go on to their lives.

Really, Malorie couldn't figure out which one of those options she fell under.

She hoped it wasn't the latter.

However, it was just fun to people watch, a cigarette in her lips as she listened to the gentle murmur of of voices and sort of zoned out to the world. That is, til some fellow decided to yell at the barkeep as loud as he could manage. Faster than her cherry could fall off her smoke, Malorie flashed back to consciousness and flew into a powerful annoyance, her remaining eye locking onto some long haired pretty boy with a glare.

[forsaken]

Azazel was still staring at the red-head bartender's back. She had gone on cleaning as if he hadn't said anything. What was it wth people in places like this? Shouldn't the bartender working in the poorest section of all of london want to make as many tips as possible?

Gritting his teeth, the werewolf said again, "Lady, " he was restraining himself from some other choice words. "Will you please get me a Foster."

The bartender turned around slowly, revealing a very red face. She slammed the glasses bottom onto the counter and glared at the Rock Star with her beady little eyes.

"Listen, Mister. I been here all night, waiting on impatient creeps like you who are stingy about tips. So excuse me, if I make you wait for five seconds while I clean out a glass for you to drink from," she said in a seething tone.

"Cold. Foster. Please," Azazel replied, unmoved.

The ady let out a frustrated gagging sound before storming towards the shelf behind her. She poured the drink so fast that it overflowed and sloshed as she placed the foamy glass before him.

"Thank you," Azazel said curtly. Then he dug into his pocket. "And I don't tip stingily."

He tossed a fifty dollar bill onto the counter and moved to an empty table instead. Maybe he could get a better look at the people in this place. They all still looked depressed. Well, except the woman smoking in the corner, who looked annoyed.

"And your problem is?"

[whitewolfokami]

OCC: May I join? I've already pm'd Azazel...I can so delete this...

Black jeans, chains hanging off them, a black tank top, his She'll be coming 'round the mountain when she comes! piercing showing...Oh yes, Fletcher has just entered! The were just felt like getting out the house. People were staring at him, why wouldn't they? His black spiked hair had fresh neon green highlights, his 3 eyebrow rings, and his viperbites made him a sight. If only they knew his other piercings...Hell only two people other than his family had seen them. Didn't matter. To make things odder, he was carrying his cat, Jingo, in one hand into the pub. Who the fuck brought a cat to a bar?!

Jingo purred as Fletcher scratched between her ears. Maybe it was good he had long nails. Fletcher looked around the place, he need somewhere to sit. Oh! My oh my, doesn't he look cute? And the babe glaring at him wasn't half bad either. Decision time, the man or the chick...Chicks rule!

The pierced freak sat at the table near the lady. She did seem a bit older than him. Didn't bother him a bit. Older girls had more stanima, longer time in bed like always.