Basement Dweller @redrehab - Tumblr Blog

Kuebiko

(N.) A weariness brought on by an exposure to senseless violence and chaos.

Paring : Dante x Fem Reader

Word Count : 9004

Content Warning : Talking about gun information

A/N : this will be a series, this is Chapter One

Neon lights, cigarette smoke, shit quality rock music, and sticky floors, Bill’s bar. A run down hole in the wall type of bar, a classic dive bar at its finest – or its worst depending on how many ceiling tiles are missing and if the air conditioning was working or not; the type of place not many would have as their first place of choice in a list of bars but the beer was cheap and the refrigerators’ that were installed back in the forties still working like a charm, ice cold. The box fan sitting in the door way pushing air back to the kitchen was on its last leg, the front of the wire cage had been removed and the blades rattled like a motherfucker, probably the loudest thing in the place next to the three men in their thirties verbally sparing over at the pool table where an older woman chimed in to their bickering every now and again, clearly instigating and clearly enjoying the company. Maybe a little too much…

Overall the place was fairly decent if you kept your head down, better when you’re sitting next to the disk jockey at the bar, upfront service and first picks in music, what more could you ask for? Best you’d be able to expect on this side of town anyhow, here no one cares to know your name if you don’t include yourself into the conversation, don’t care who you are or where you came from, paradise for an introvert who doesn’t want to be noticed but doesn’t want to be home. Though there are some downsides sitting at the bar with the disk jockey, namely the drunk woman who took her shoes off and is currently walking bare foot, dancing, and rubbing against us begging Adam to play Def Leppards’ “Pour Some Sugar on Me”, someone was going to pour something on her, just wasn’t going to be sugar - not with the way she couldn’t even stand straight and barely make a reasonable hobble. The cigarette machine was a real commodity tonight it seemed, the mechanical pull of the leaver and the dull thumping of a pack hitting the tray behind me was happening rather frequently, sitting the furthest away from the main door where the pool table stood with its group seemed to be just as popular is if I had just joined them regardless.

Bill’s was rather small once you get inside, three entry doors with two wide open to let the cigarette smoke flow out in a tunnel, and letting what was left of any of the cool air out, deeming tonight be a night where the air conditioning was rather pointless. Hot summer air slowly creeping in, something that would surely and eventually get the drinking crowd drunk faster, which in turn will inevitably lead to a couple of fights; speaking of fights the group of three girls that had been sitting close to the entrance by the pool table on the other side of the bar from Adam and I ,were currently getting into it. They had already been a rather rowdy bunch, fraternizing with the three bickering men, mostly vying for the attention of an older man hoping one would take them home, clearly one of the girls stepped on the other's tail they way they were screaming like back alley cats at one another. There was always something going on at Bill’s, that was something always certain and unchanging.

“These people are a fucking mess tonight,” Adam, grumbling as he flipped through is note pad of songs, “Wasn’t that bad last Friday when I played here.”

I stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to his comment nor did I care to actually participate in the commentary on the behavior of the people in here. I was only in here for the music and cheap beer tonight, not the company of others. Settling for a shrug instead as I turned my attention to the mirror covered walls all with beer advertisements and branding etched into the glass, watching the rolling billows of smoke run out the doors on the air tunnel. This wasn’t a place I frequented but it was one where I appeared often, mostly for the music, more often for the cold drinks, rarely to chat, but even with the infrequent visits, others will eventually learn your name and you theirs. Perfect example, Adam. The bar had been packed one night and after a few too many for something celebratory I got a little chatty and asked for about a dozen songs then he started talking about bands and cars. Namely the “Eliminator”, the iconic red “33 Ford coupe on the album cover of ZZ Tops Eliminator album; going off about how the car was custom “built”, a rather over statement as it was modified versus built.

A loud crash snapped my attention to one of the speakers as it suddenly started blasting music, seeming now was the perfect time to come back from the dead only to leave out a loud squelch and stop working again.

“Would you just hit that fucking thing already?” The bartender snapped at Adam, agitated by the noise and the drunken woman who was daring to ask him for more liquor as she clung to the bar as a life line, poor man was going through it tonight. “Better yet just break down and buy a new one!”

“What, you gonna go halves?” He shot back, moving from his booth to deliver a few hefty smacks to the side, “Fuck it! Just use the damn Juke, things shot.”

I leaned back into the chair grinning to myself hopping on the train of displeasure, “You probably should’ve just been playing from that in the first place, last time I was here speakers still weren’t working.”

“Aye, pipe down didn’t ask for your two cents.”

“I know, but it seems like you could use the money.”

“Well aren’t you generous.”

“Me? Always.” I laugh standing up, shooting the rest of my drink, the glass making a dull clink on the wood counter top as I sit it down. “Hey I’ll see ya around.” Waving as I walked around the bar to leave, the three girls had long since left along with the older woman, everyone else still either playing pool or sitting at the bar chain smoking. The barefoot woman tried to grab at me to get me to dance with her claiming how hot some of the men were in here tonight. I couldn’t agree, they mostly looked like college age boys or aggressive men, but more for her, maybe she can get that “sugar” she’d been wanting – that’s if the floor doesn’t hit her before she hits it.

The air was both warmer than you’d think yet cooler than one would expect, a thunderstorm was in high chance later. It was oddly quiet for the hour yet not unsettling, though it was the outskirts of the city, well what was left of it from the whole demonic tree nearly two years ago. Life still hasn’t gone back to “normal”, or as normal as one could get here in Redgrave, like Bill's, something was always going on, the city had been placed under quarantine for the longest time followed heavily by curfews and a couple small riots. Families that had been missing loved ones and fighting to get back into the epicenter to look for them, even though there were no bodies to look for, all turned to ashen dust left to melt under the rains and blow away with the winds. Government officials were still trying to get a wrap around what had happened, why it did, and how it did; then how to prevent it from happening again. But they were doomed to fail as there was truly nowhere for them to begin, nothing left to sample - no demons, people, or trace amounts of whatever that tree thing had been.

Slowly they started shrinking the quarantine area, taking down the fences, letting some come back in while still keeping a mass majority out, of course like any restricted areas people still snuck in, party spots and familial search parties, even conspiracy theorists; though the theories weren’t even close to the truth, because the truth was - they didn’t need to know all of the dark parts of our reality, the devilish details - irony intended, it’d only cause more panic and widespread hysteria. It’d been a dark; might as well say, officially, two years because the anniversary of the event was really just behind us; May 5th, a day that’s been engraved into everyone’s memories, at least everyone that’s local’s memories.

Chaos had ensured for far longer than the month or two it had been standing, demons and people, Hell on Earth's soil, missing persons, the uptake in possessed people even, fighting off of devils and trying not to get caught in between either, just trying to survive and do a job that no one hired me for - well the rundown store cash registers paid pretty decent along with the jewelry stores, and a bank or two when you get to them before others. Though that was a rare occurrence - for anyone who didn’t know how to fight demons off that far into the city ruins; a lot of that money I stashed away for myself admittedly, the rest I figured I’d give out to some of the families with kids or something.

A couple cars passed by their rattling filling the air, tires whooshing on the pavement before getting out of earshot, the humming buzz of an occasional neon sign overhead for some random store left on either by accident or still open. It was rather meditative after a beer or two on an empty stomach; it’s the kind of feeling that leaves you feeling relaxed under the lights and city air. Not the cleanest place in the world, being biased as a country kid opposed to a city kid, but work is money and the city offers no lack in either. Sidewalks in this part of the city were often bumpy and uneven, lack of care and concern being major players here, and money from the city being the biggest issue these days, everybody loves money and needs it, but when your city is constantly being torn down either by giant ass trees or the riots of angry civilians, paying jobs tend slow down.

Charlie’s Pub, a forty minute walk from Bill’s if you don’t mind the walking part, a better bar than a hole in the wall dive bar a little more “high class” if you will, now this one? This one I frequent, at this point it’s my second home, my heaven, a place where I don’t mind being chatted with and known, even on a great first name basis with the owner – for the most part, if you don’t count getting called “Honey”, “Mutt”, or “Guard Dog” often, and sometimes the occasional “Bitch” though that one’s often mostly from the problem crowds. The sign hung off the building in a colorful array of yellow, red and green, a parrot – the bar's mascot, waving from its rhythmic flashing pattern. As often as I hang around here, I don’t actually drink all that much, mostly here for the pool table and the amazing food Gary tends to cook, reluctantly, for being the owner you can often find him in the back cooking with the rest of his team. Favors, small and one rather large one, for each other along with my frequent time spent here has let us get rather comfortable with one another, most of the favors being if a fight breaks out while he’s in the back or away and the female bartenders and the servers can’t break it up? That’s where I come in, aka “Guard Dog”, doing so has garnered me ‘favors’, payment in free food, a tally I keep tight track of as this is my dinner most nights. Unfortunately for me I can easily be bought with food, if the food is good, it’s my biggest weakness, and he’s a damn good cook.

The air is lively when I walk in, a live band playing further into the building, muffled by two closed doors. Charlie's, unlike Bill’s, is a rather large place, large enough that it has two separate bars. One half, the doors I just walked through, has a long row of eight decently tall windows, each with its own lit sign lighting the sidewalks, this room holds the pool table with plenty of space to move and bend for a great shot, it even has its own bar on this side and a small dining room attached where you can also exit and enter, window seating facing the street in the pool room and its own set of restrooms. The other half, which is separated by two metal double doors that are currently closed, houses the restaurant with the stage, main bar and its own restrooms. I’m usually found with the pool table, either playing or simply watching, and tonight it seems I’ll be watching for a couple games.

Another fun part about being friendly with the owner is that I don’t need to pay for my “event” passes; I get to come and go as I please. Usually they just close the doors and keep the bar split when they have comedic nights but when its bands they usually still charge; they must be only an hour or so into the bands. I walk through the pool room taking in a sparse amount of people, five people, that’s it, an amount that by experience tells me everyone else is on the other side of the doors and my dinner is likely to be a bit delayed tonight. Every one of them watches me as I walk through, feeling their eyes linger before starting to chat with one another again, calling out for corner pocket win; I’ve only ever spoken a handful or so times to two of them, mostly in a friendly game of pool.

It's loud, people yelling to hear one another over the band, the smoke isn’t as thick here – better ventilation and air circulation with numerous fans that hang from the ceiling. More bodies than I was expecting tonight, it’s warm on this side, uncomfortably so, something that often happens with this side as the rear of the building is built into a hillside that holds parking and with a crowd this large it’s understandable the circulation isn’t going to do too much. The bar itself is slammed, the girls look overwhelmed but are handling it like it’s nothing, something they’ve gotten used to after repeated events.

I stand at the end waiting for one of them to get to me, one of the girls Jenn, notices me, I point a thumb to the pool room as if to say ‘I’m here and I’ll be in the back if I’m needed’, she nods then moves from behind the bar and into the connecting hallway, the kitchen door and the two separate bars share a singular hallway behind the counters that connects them away from the main traffic of customers, easy flow. Taking a final look around I can’t help but let out an exasperated breath, these girls needed all the luck they could get tonight, anyone with a brain knows there’s going to be a few fights, but more tally strikes for free food is always a decent living.

By the time I make it back into the pool room a thin sheen of sweat dappled my skin, my shirt clinging to my back, I really would like to take off my coat, I feel like I’m suffocating, it really is too hot on the other side. The group of five seemed to have left and a couple more had come in, a group of both men and women all making their way past me to the bands, one of the men dropping himself off to the bar on this side, stopping at the bar just before the opening to the pool room, I pause waiting for Jenn angling my body so I can see the pool table through one of the open door ways of the dining area. From this angle I could see the table calling my name, all mine.

“Hey girl where ya been? It’s been a while!” Loud. Masculine. Gary.

I had mistaken Jenn walking into the hallway as her coming to serve me; instead I’m met with Gary, loud as ever.

“Work, as usual you know how it is.” I turn and look at him, he’s beet red, good thing for him he loves the heat. Damn lizard.

“Work picking up for ya any?” He asks leaning forward on the bar resting his elbows there, he always does, always, like the answer will somehow change in the slightest. It never does.

I just look at him then glance back to the man sitting down at the end of the bar waiting patiently; ears, “Work” in other words - contracts, back alley deals, anything dealing with demonic entities and such. Things that should be kept in the dark, dangerous things, the only reason he knew was because one of those “favors” was that his family had been targeted by demons during the events of May 5th and I happened to be in the area and been fighting to keep the outbreak relatively contained, something that was genuinely by chance and had changed his view of me after years of hanging around here, though back then I was going out of my way just to come to this place, reminded me of some good places of back home. Once everything had settled for the most part I stopped by once months after that night, nervous to show my face for the longest time as he’d already known me, to think of me as a “good girl”. One who kept her head down, tried not to start fights or get in the way, one who would help clean up a mess or offer a trip across the street to the stores if they needed something they’d run out of on a busy day, one who was always sweet saying, “Please” and “Thank you” after nearly every interaction, leading to the nick name “Honey”, that and possibly because I was only a handful of years older than his eldest daughter.

“Well, they’re certainly there, let’s go with that.” He doesn’t know I ransack places as of late, no one’s willing to pay decent money right now, not that there are that many people around here anymore. I’d rather keep my “finders keepers” mentality on the low a while longer, I’m not hurting for money but again, everyone can use it and I plan on using most of it for others who actually need it.

“Usual?” He asks, the usual being a buffalo chicken pizza or wrap with a rum and coke.

I hummed, “Surprise me, please.”

“You’re dressed up pretty fancy tonight, finally get a date?”

I glance down at my clothes, I did clean up a little more tonight, I had been told to, well more along the blurry lines of begged and commanded. Satin green button up tucked in to a pair of boot cut jeans, black belt with a silver buckle and two inch chunky heeled dress boots with life saving soft foam in the bottom, and a small silver necklace with a singular tiny diamond, something I debated on, gold or silver accents tonight, if I had worn the red shirt, would’ve been gold. To top it all off and tie it together a black trench coat that ended at the middle of my calves. Dressy and practical, could still run in the boots thanks to their wide heel and fight if need be, and the coat that was able to hide the guns I always carried, they never left my side, nor did the pocket knife I kept attached to the back of the belt.

“Well I was told I needed to, I’m meeting up with some friends here in a bit, who want me to meet someone, figured I’d get here early so I don’t get an earful. So, no, the dating pool’s still unlucky.”

He turned and started making my drink in a tall glass, “Oh good because your boyfriend was here earlier.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Ball Master.”

“Ball Master?” I parroted, confused, “BALL MASTER?” Bewildered, I couldn't help the pitch in my voice, catching the attention of the man at the end of the bar turned to watch the ordeal leaning casually back in his chair, arms crossed.

Ball Master was an odd guy who has this weird crush on me; comes in often to play pool and just lingers around me. The first interaction I had was humbling him. I was playing pool with someone who at the time was just learning how to play the game, I let them win to build confidence and he called playing the winner. Just to end up making fun of them, meanwhile he almost put the pool stick into the pool table light during that round, so I called the winner knowing he would win. I hustled him in the end; I don’t like men that act like that.

He garnered the nickname because the second time I had come in later that night, during the early afternoon a group of younger kids came in to play the table, something Gary let happen as one, money and two the fact the main bar was really in the back; they had somehow managed to get the underneath rails jammed, something that all things considered happened rather often with tables like that, so while it wasn’t the kids fault, they still managed to do it. Ball Master was a man whose name I get told often but never care to remember, I don’t like him so no point in getting friendly, was trying to fix it by getting a group of other guys to move the table around and jostle it a bit hoping the leverage would dislodge one of the stuck balls, after quite a few attempts in different forms he’d finally gotten it done, during the ordeal a drunken man kept cheering him on calling him “Ball Master” to which he started cheering with him not realizing he was being made fun of for some of the other things that had been happening in that moment. Part of me feels bad but the other part thinks it’s deserved with the way he treats people.

“If you ever call him my boyfriend again, you won’t have a bar anymore.” I toss the threat out at him as he laughs putting down my drink.

“What, you don’t want him? What about –“ I cut him off, I knew who else he was about to mention. I have a reputation for attracting the weirdoes and not in the fun kind of way either.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, I’ll keep my single woman status, and don’t you dare curse me with that shit. Ew.” I visibly shiver at the thought, repulsed. “Ew! Damn it! You just had to put that thought in my head. Fuck you Gary!” I take the drink and walk away as he laughs, I grin; it was always like this with him, both of us having easy going natures makes it easy to banter and work together. I make my way past the man at the end, still watching us with an easy, charming grin, Gary takes his order and I’m out of earshot and eyesight.

The windows, somewhere cooler, somewhere where I can take off my coat and wait in the meantime for both my food and my friends, showers me in the reds and blues of beer signs letting me look out at the active streets. It’s later in the night, but nowhere near Ten p.m., people are still out and about either having fun with the nightlife as there’s nothing else to do these days or they’re just going home, the simplicity sometimes is rather jarring, the normalcy of it all. To go from endless days of fighting demons and other people, to this, sitting in a bar waiting for friends in a place that offers no danger or adrenaline rushes, nothing trying to kill you here, just friendly faces, warm meals and cold beer.

Charlie’s interior was majorly all wood, from the bar, to the chairs at the window and its table, to the wainscoting of the wall in custom wood paneling that reaches the shoulder before cutting off and showing bare brick the rest of the way to the ceilings. Pictures of the area’s history hung in the brick, not advertisements’ and branding like some of the other bars, blue chalk streaks colored the dark wash of the wainscoting where small ledges peaked out for players to rest their drinks should the wall tables and bar tops be full to take their aim on the pool table. Radiator heaters lined the bottom of four windows closest to the pool table, making it cozy in the winter months, being able to look out at the snow while being warm, playing pool with a drink in hand with good company? Perfect, this bar was my heaven on Earth, I always thought that people who claimed a bar was their heaven were losers, but I guess I’m a part of that club these days; I could comfortably live here if I wanted. Warm atmosphere, food that’s made and brought to you fresh, drinks that are also served and company when the company’s wanted; what more could a woman ask for? Well maybe not to get hit on constantly and man-splained a game you could easily wipe the floor with their ass at.

Sitting my coat down folded to hide the holsters, I walk to the pool sticks grabbing my go to seventeen ounce stick, the lighter weight making the stick easier to handle not having to worry about the part that’s going to impact the ball shoot up and over as you take your shot even if you’re one who wraps a finger over top, it keeps your arm from dropping from the weight. Tossing a couple coins into the slot, the balls drop in a clatter, pool’s a game I could play for hours if I wanted – something I’d actually done before, it’s mindless - keeps your focus on nothing else but your aim, it lets me block out all of the bad and dark thoughts. Ones that just don’t serve me but haunt me, all the embarrassment and regrets, right to the back of the mind, it’s meditative, the thoughts are still there they always will be, but during the fights and during the game they quiet down, it gets muted and I can breathe. By the time I’m done tossing the balls up on to the table from my crouched position and go to organize them in the rack, the man from the bar is already taking his seat at the small round table of the in-between doorway for the bar hallway and the small entrance of the dining room, waiting and just watching. Lifting his red coat slightly in the back as to not sit on his own coat tails, a struggle I relate to rather annoyingly, with the way the shoulders on his coat raise as he sits it’s clear to me he hasn’t broken the leather in to sit just right, new.

Looking down at the table, avoiding his clear overly observant eyes, I ask, “You looking to play or looking to watch? I don’t mind either way.”

He unnerves me in the slightest way, not in the way most men do, like arrogance and entitlement that I have to carefully navigate around as to not start an unwanted fight or advancement, no, something deeper something I don’t find on everyday people, something dark and strong, a feeling that leaves a hollow feeling in the upper chest, a quite danger - a predator with gentle deep set eyes, a strong nose, and a charming grin when it’s flashed, like now, as he stands back up and rolls his shoulders.

“Thought you’d never ask.” His voice is smooth, light, son of a bitch.

“Oh yeah, I really had to twist your arm with that.” I laughed, rolling my eyes and making room so he could grab a stick.

“Thought you were actually about to take it off there for a moment.” He joked. He’s laid back, and I can roll with that.

“Well then I wouldn’t have someone to play pool with, would’ve been a shame, I’ll try not to twist it so much next time.” I snorted, grabbing the queue ball and setting it on the table, “I’ll let you break, don’t have a strong breaking arm.”

He nodded, chalked his stick and walked over, setting the ball where he’d want it. Standing to the side I watched him, he moved with an unhurried ease, this was something he’d clearly done countless times, it was comfortable for him. His white hair falling from its semi styled look framing his face even more, though now hiding his cheek bones and eyes, eyes that were focused on the table before taking his shot, the loud crack sounding at the balls scattering across the table far more than what my break would’ve probably allowed. Clearly I made the right choice in letting him break, a few fell into the pockets rolling down through with a hollow noise, he stood up waiting for them to stop moving before glancing at me and rounding the table passing between the table and myself, his cologne and after shave heavy on the air as he passed, something familiar, addicting. I hate this man already; he needs to go back to whatever hole he crawled out of, he smells like sex and sin.

He repeated his motions, two more down, seems I’ll be stripes this game; he took his time aiming, choosing what one he would actually before having settled on solid as the break sent one of each type down the pockets, leaving six for me and three for him after his two. Lucky for me he pinned one of the balls in front of a corner pocket in front of the eight ball; unfortunately I’m not much of a gambling woman, it’ll be my luck I’m the one who hit’s it by accident before he’s able to get his green six out of the way. He’s left for next to nothing on the table in way of clear shots or any he looks like he’s willing to risk right away. He’s focused when he comes back up, his face slightly relaxed with a small wrinkle between his brows; I start mentally making my moves, hoping to get lucky as I’m not planning to take the game as seriously as I probably could. Sometimes it’s just fun to shoot and chat.

“Well, it seems I’ve backed myself into a corner. You might actually get to win this.” He purses his lips before that easy grin comes back, shaking his head before he bends again.

“I’m not much of a betting woman, so I won’t count on that, I’ve got plenty of bad luck.” I laugh lightly cocking on my hip crossing one arm over the other holding the stick as I watch him take a shot in the dark and miss. I’m able to sink a few before one of them gets a little too uncomfortably close to his six and eight at the end there.

He lets out a noise, “You seem pretty lucky to me.”

I just look at him, “You call that luck?” I scratch my neck and shake my head, “That’s a trap!” I huffed with a playfully spooked laugh.

“I mean you left me with nothing, and you didn’t sink the eight, I’d say that’s pretty lucky.” He defended; I waved it off, shaking my head again with a grin.

He took aim again, and again I watched him. The game was going quick and the conversation was easy; because there wasn’t much of one happening, clearly both of us were content just to play the game, should conversation strike so be it.

“Here you go Honey. So by the way, how’s the shop holding up?” Gary’s voice rings from behind me dragging me from my thoughts of the game and man on the other side of the table from me, turning at the waist I watched him carrying my pizza and a rack to sit it on, with a box knowing I’m going to take home the leftovers that will stretch me the week. Sitting it beside my drink and folded coat setting me up nicely, I opened my mouth to say something before closing it and shrugging.

“Quite as always, calls here and there, like said, work’s slow right now, but at least I’m catching up on some sleep so that’s a small bonus. But I just got in from an out of town trip a couple of hours ago.” I’ve already turned back to watch my opponent take his last shot before he’ll have to start chasing the eight ball to win, he’s looking up at us from across the table, eyes bouncing between Gary and myself before the game again.

Gary stops to stand next to me, legs wide holding himself up as his arms cross his chest, a comfortable position for him, he was a taller man somewhere around five-ten, five-eleven, raising a hand to scratch his dark beard as he watched the table, “Who’s winning?” He asked casually.

I nod to the gentleman on the other side of the table who sunk his final ball and somehow didn’t sink the eight ball first, now ready to move on to the eight.

“No shit, you’re actually letting someone kick your ass for once?”

I couldn’t hold the huff I let out and the growing smile, “Don’t even start that, I’m not that good,” I shake my head looking at the red draped man, “Don’t listen to him he’s just trying to start crap.”

The easy grin showed softly again, not a full one, as he shrugged and tilted his head in a way that said, ‘hey I’m just here’. Standing to move once more before speaking, “Why you think she’s taking it easy on me? She already tried taking my arm off to get me to play a round.”

Gary laughed, “Oh so it’s like that huh?”

“No.” I counter.

“Oh yeah, border line on begging.” This fucking guy I swear.

“Next drink you get I hope you choke.” I laugh, shaking my head moving away from both of them hoping to sip my own drink that’s probably fairly watered down by now.

His mouth drops as he raises his brows, all of it in humor, his arms open before sending out a pointing toss, “See? Begs me for a game and tries to take my arm now she’s wanting me to choke, you’re a violent woman anyone ever tell you that?” Someone needs to run him over. I don’t even know his name but dear god, if you’re really there, make it happen before I do.

“Aye, no, I simply asked if you wanted to play and you said ‘sure’ don’t you dare pull that kind of crap!” I hadn’t even made it to my drink; barely through half of his sentence before I stopped and turned on my heels to look at him knowing I’ll need the correction in this banter, to point back at him. His light and airy chuckle filled the space, his eyes squinting as a smile crossed his face, nodding before he crossed his arms stick in hand spreading his legs to stand on his heels, similar to Gary.

“I’m an honest man I’ll have you know!” He defended himself. I snorted, I’ve never met an honest man.

“Right and I’m the Queen!” I rolled my eyes going back to my drink, Lady should be here soon.

“Keep it up she might take more than just your arm bud, she’s quite the spitfire! You should see the crap she’s got hanging around her shop!” Gary chimed, “I swear it’s haunted. The place gives me the creeps.”

“Awe Gary, you scared of my décor? It’s harmless!” I laugh before taking the stir straw in my mouth, he’s talking about the giant ass demon hanging on the wall of the shop with various weapons poking out of it, something I didn’t design, it’s been hanging there since the previous owner disappeared to where ever, no one would tell me and I stopped asking. As far as I cared I made payments to the current owner, Morrison, to keep the utilities on and working, especially after the top half of the building took a large hit a couple months back after a rogue demon attack. That money I’d been hoarding from scrounging around and the copious amounts I had before working under Morrison, I put back into the place to help get both ahead and put a livable apartment above the place. He gave me a place to live, I helped keep the building and business functioning, even trade to me at the end of the day. Though if it hadn’t been for Nico and Nero, I don’t think I would’ve ever gotten this chance, so I hopped on it as soon as it was presented, better than living out of hotel rooms and the back of random cars.

"Honestly I don’t know how she can sit there all day, doing nothing, waiting for a phone to ring.” He continued.

“With a chair and decent music, is usually how I sit there or I play pool. Not that hard to understand but I understand if a feeble minded bar owner can’t grasp it.” I sassed, shooting a playful glance at him.

“You know what? Kick her ass. See what I care.” Gary tossed to the man in red while throwing his hands in the air, pulling the hand towel off his shoulder before walking back to the kitchen, a large grin on his face.

Red Coat also grinned, shaking his head leaning down to finally take his eight ball shot, ”Well, you heard him sweetheart.” Down the corner pocket the ball sunk, and up my middle finger went.

“Here’s your prize.” I taunt with a large grin, yeah, this was better than the company at Bill’s Bar.

A loud laugh left him, something that was relaxed; one you can tell wasn’t fake, pared with the look in his eye, I found good company in my wait, something I wasn’t looking for.

“So, he mentioned you had a shop, what kind of work do you do?” He asked.

I wasn’t sure how to respond to a man who made it feel like he sees everything, so I settled with an extension of the truth, “A little bit of everything here and there. I’m kind of a jack of all trades, miscellaneous work really.”

“Is that so?” He asked as we moved to put our sticks back, game concluded, he was digging, most people do when presented with information that could possibly lead to either money or something interesting, while pulling the classic trick of trying to get one to talk. Make them talk about themselves.

“Yeah, nothing impressive really, rather boring all things considered.” I offered, sometimes I try to be as boring as possible, how do you go and casually say, ‘Oh yeah I hunt things that lurk in the dark that some time are able to cross quantum plains of existence, ya know things called demons?’, really goes over well with the social groups.

He hums and drops the conversation, holding his hand out looking like he wanted to ask something else before a group of girls walked in, four of them, each looking like they had just a bit too much to drink already, loud, obviously celebrating something. A perfect distraction and space maker, not only did he smell good he was a walking furnace- and somehow still comfortable wearing that coat of his, as his cologne was once again filling my scenes clouding me in a relaxed haze, dangerous. A word that kept being repeated in my mind when it came to him tonight; I didn’t like it.

The girls turned out to be more of a problem than I’d care to admit, unfortunately more for me than the man who still sat completely unbothered at his little round table, looking like he’s enjoying the show, a typical man, if he’s not getting attention - he’s enjoying the suffering of another.

“You know you’re really cute.” The red head slurred hanging off of my shoulder practically panting in my ear. My pizza was getting cold.

“So I’ve been told.” My response is dry, I lean away slightly making her catch her weight on the table, my eye line straight out across the street at one of the closed stores. Where the hell are Lady and Trish? What could possibly be taking them so long? Lady was yelling at me not to be late, but where is she? Useless lesbian, see if I ever try to take a man's unwanted attention from her again.

“Play with me will ya?” She slurred against me, I knew she was aiming for something between a purr and a tease, but falling flat on the floor like a, well really like a lasagna, flat, messy and fucking everywhere, not pretty.

I took a deep breath, she wasn’t going to let up anytime soon, that much was clear, letting it out I stood up pushing the chair out from under me consequently pushing her away. Putting on a playful teasing smirk of my own turning to look at her, “Okay baby, ya know what? Once your friends lose this game why don’t you rack on up for us? Hmm?”

She crinkled her nose and bit her nail, cute for anyone else, if they were into women, I was not. “Okay.” She giggled, oh god what have I done and where’s Gary for a refill when you need him? Actually better yet where was a fight when you needed it, and was I really about to be the reason one broke out tonight? Fuck.

While she stumbled away to try and talk her friends into hurrying the game up I quickly boxed my cold pizza, I debated making a dash for the door in this split second. I can’t. Damn it. Hanging my head mentally, I snuck behind the bar while the group of girls wasn’t looking, taking the pizza with me to hide while making myself another drink, knowing I’d be paying it back later. Genuinely what was it with women hanging off of me tonight? I should’ve just told Lady and Trish no and stayed home. I’m every dude’s wet dream tonight, if I were a guy that is.

By the time I walked back to the other side of the bar and into the open again the bands started singing “Mississippi Queen” by Mountain and they were pretty good, though most of the bands tonight from what I could hear between chatter and the unwanted heavy breathing in my ear, were pretty good.

“It’s ready baby!” I hear her call, I grin, fan-freaking-tastic, yet again I’m left feeling bad but the woman wouldn’t take no for an answer and I’m admittedly beginning to feel aggressive.

“I’m here.” I speak kindly, polite. God I don’t want to do this with someone who I know will drag the game out because they can’t shoot, but here it goes. Lady, Trish, please save me.

“You got it racked love?” I ask, walking to the table with a tight smile on my face, a double shot drink in my hand, I know she doesn’t, at least not right anyways, and I’m about to eat Gary’s words and my own from earlier. I’m going to play the game and I’m about to be the bully I hate… The rack is decent, it all depends on the game being played and I know which game she’s playing and it’s not mine.

“Would you like to break or me?” I ask sitting my drink down on one of the ledges, sighing deeply still holding my customer service smile.

“You baby.”She says, and great is all I could think while I turned away and flexed my jaw.

I grab my stick from the wire stand and turn around, when I do my eyes catch Red Coat sitting there watching, one leg crossed over the other eating this up, clearly, from that bored yet amused look in this man's eyes. Of course Lady is missing the aggressive lesbians, exactly her type. She’s like me, she loves the game, the flirting and banter, push and pull, we just swing for different teams, and rather unfortunately for both of us she’s not here currently. Once I grab the queue ball, I lean over the edge of the table aiming and taking my shot. I move the hand holding the contact end of the stick further back hoping for a pin ball effect. Once I move the ball, it works like a charm; a loud crack sounds and the balls scatter.

I might have lied to the Man in Red earlier, I do have a strong arm, but it’s not something I utilize often, or at least as often as Gary insinuated, when the company’s good, I don’t mind the long game, though like everyone else some days are good some are bad. And some days? I just don’t care, I’m here to shoot, not to be great or good but just to get out of the shop, yeah I’ve got my own table there and a dart board from the previous owner but that doesn’t mean I’m a world champion and I’m certainly not going to act like it.

The game went for a couple shots with her shakenly shooting nearly falling and me bowing my head shaking it when she and her friends weren’t looking to make a good eye roll when I moved around to get the queue ball when others were out of eye shot leading me to this moment. Bend over the table and her gripping it next to me for dear life and leaning over, Gary finally making his appearances here and there, none to save me with the news of a fight in the other room but to curse me by refilling their glasses and vanishing again. I couldn’t help the glance I sent her at this point though, her fingers well past the safety of the bumpers, leaning over me taking my glance as an advancement, before chattering at me, once again my eyes strayed to the Man in Red in an exasperated ‘can you believe this shit’ type of look and a toothy grin poked through his face, he was loving this shit.

“So what’s your type?” She asked in a deep ‘sobering’ breath.

“Not you.” I respond, dry, heartless. “Taller. Older.” I break away from his eyes and look back to the table.

She huffed and I made a lazy shot. Anyone sober enough knew I’d done it just to entertain her hoping she’d call it quits,glancing at the clock it’s now been close to forty-five minutes passed when Lady and Trish said they’d be here, still no sign of them, I’d start worrying if I didn’t know they could handle themselves, you don’t get into the business of Devil Hunting if you can’t fight and take care of yourself.

“Come on, give me a real answer.” She begged.

The lazy shot actually ended up going in by a stroke of luck, mine? Possibly, but I wasn’t holding my breath, the night wasn’t over.

I leaned back over a little ways away from her, “Taller, Older, Packing."

“Oh baby I’m packing. Just for you.” She moans in my ear the clearest she’s been in the last half hour and the straightest she’s walked too, probably with the assistance of the table,’I commend the ambition but point it elsewhere.’ I thought to myself - I snorted openly, then humored, but not in the way I knew she’d probably like.

“Oh really, what do you carry? A nine millimeter; I mean I wouldn’t judge, they’re good starter pistols, a litter harder to come by, but none the less they’re very reliable, me personally I don’t care for them, depending on the name they don’t come with a hammer, which in my opinion is a second safety.” Guns, were something I am very well familiar with, and out of a nervous reaction while letting out a dry laugh, I started on a tangent about; because I was honestly uncomfortable with the atmosphere she was creating, so laughing and cracking jokes was the easiest way to keep me from fighting, and two no faster way to get someone away from you, confuse the fuck out of them and overwhelm them with information. I wasn’t even paying her mind when I continued; I heard her voice crack as she tried to say something, more than likely trying to correct me.

I swiveled up at the waist from the hinge I created when leaning over, continuing as I look over my next couple of shots, I knew that ‘packing’ a gun wasn’t what she was talking about, I didn’t care, “Me personally I prefer the three-eighty, the recoils is less than the nine and harder to find bullets for but it’s smaller more compact - fits in the hand better if you’ve got smaller hands and frame which I do, but because it’s smaller it’s super easy for concealed carry.” I move over to my coat leaving the table for a brief moment leaning my stick against the wall, pulling it on and rolling the sleeves up to my elbows, I didn’t care for the feeling of the way she was undressing me with her eyes, before coming back and leaning over the table now choosing to ignore the Man, whose name I still do not know.

“The forty-five calibers though,” I shoot for my last four balls before the eight ball, I’m not playing the game to play, I’m playing to win; to get away, “One it’s a good number in just about everything, wine, whiskey, men; they’re a larger gun, the difference between a forty-five and a nine millimeter is the nine is fast and the forty-five is final. The forty-five hits like a train, heavy round - solid impact; the nine millimeter is a smaller round with lighter recoil with a faster follow up.” I chatter information out faster than I know she can understand what any of it means, it’s all useless to someone like her, her group of friends are watching the show with a quiet intensity and at some point started moving to gather around the table, I only had a two more left before I chased the eight ball for the first time tonight.

“The only issue with the three-eighties though is the stopping power; it also struggles with barriers meaning your shot has to be dead on, plus while it’ll protect you and get the job done it still leaves a target behind, whereas with a forty-five there’s nothing left once that bullet exits.” I continue, sinking one, then chase the queue ball to the other side of the table, closer to Red and away from her, perfect aim for a side pocket with a gentle tap, I’m running the table and not letting her speak. Rude, sure, but so is not taking no for an answer.

“Plus if you get the right style pistol you’ll get an ambidextrous safety, means a safely switch on their side of the grips, perfect for someone who likes to change up their shooting styles if that’s something their able to do; which fun fact,” I pause licking my lips before speaking again, “It wasn’t too long ago that actually got patented for production so they’re rather hard to find but worth it when you do.” I shrug and bend again to shoot, taking that gentle tap to my blue two ball, perfectly into the side pocket, now it was time for the eight. When I rose back up, Red was facing my back and the girls stood on the other side of the table watching me, finally quite, lasagna chick was looking more interested in me than I was hoping she would be, fun times.

“So my type you ask? Three-eighty, but I appreciate a good forty-five at times. But consensus is tall, older, and male preferred”. I take the final shot sinking it, finally it’s over, and taking my stick I round the back away from the girls using the quick silence and the echoes of the band as the prime opportunity to make my escape. Rounding the table once more, passing Red who caught my eye as I was leaving, was watching me with only what I could consider an interested curiosity, I could still feel his gaze after I passed like a thrumming frustrating incessant buzz under the skin, who the hell was this guy to be carry an energy like that?

I paused in the middle of the room turning on my heels, doing a performative bow, “Good game ladies.” Spinning and speeding away, grabbing my pizza box off the bar counter, get me the hell out of here; I’m hiding in the back for a while.

“Oh, that was hot.” I heard from one of the girls.

“Oh, my god.” I can’t help but mutter under my breath, dropping my shoulders.

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