It'd been a long and arduous day for the demon, but no more so than usual. He spent his hours with his guitar, performing at various clubs, and lending his vocal talents as an accompaniment. He tended to throw his all into performances, never staying still, ensuring the audience felt immersed and satisfied. As a result, his throat was parched and his muscles screamed at him every time he moved.
Desiring to take the edge off, he sought the comfort of a watering hole. The one which seemed to reveal itself to him was enticing by appearance alone, it emitted an aura that drew him in by a thread of curiosity and anticipation. He walked through the doors as if in a daze, simply putting one foot in front of the other until they led him to where he needed to be.
He took a seat at the bar, slid his guitar strap from his shoulder, and exhaled heavily. "Grasshopper, please," he told the bartender. "Or something else with midori in it."
The Shadowed Rose was quiet tonight. Less patrons than would usually be present, music spiralling soft and lazy through warm air. The buzz of chatter and soft clinking of glasses seemed muted, like the entire scene were submerged, or perhaps wrapped up in cotton-wool. Quiet enough that the bartender had been draped casually against the bar, idly flipping a coin between long fingers. The penny flicked into the air, was deftly caught, and vanished into a pocket as the man straightened, flashing a perfect, pearly smile. The staff didn't seem to have much of a dress code. This particular bartender seemed to favour red and gold, almost matching the decor. Silky-sheen of a scarlet shirt, the top buttons left undone. Golden chain curled around his throat, and a stud glinting in one faintly-pointed ear. His eyes were accented by a smoke of dark makeup, eyeliner sharpening the edges into something vaguely feline in shape, pointed inner corners and sweeping wings. Dark eyes. Too dark, really - like drops of spilt ink, the irises indistinguishable from the pupils. His hair, too, was the same shade - tousled raven's feathers, a contrast to the paleness of ivory skin. Every movement was swift. Graceful. Too fast to really track, combining ingredients, hands fluttering like hummingbird's wings. The drink that slid across the counter was... definitely leaning more towards something else. A deeper shade of green - viridian, not mint. It shimmered faintly with something silvery, twisting gracefully within the depths. The little sprig of mint on the edge of the glass was similarly dusted in shimmer at its edges. "...Something else," the bartender almost purred - or maybe that was just his voice, a velvet-smooth drawl - leaning a hip lightly against the counter, and watching the bar's newest patron with a quiet kind of interest. "First time here, hm?"
