hell's best bartender

@deadbeatbartender

"Oh, why hello there Husker! It's nice to finally see a familiar face! Good golly, I have seen enough rectangular heads."

blink

"Hm? You are at this.. McDonald's thing. And for how long it had been, Im not quite sure! Either way, seems like you'll be assisting me for quite some time, no?"

Grin.

"Fuck, I guess I don't got a choice now." He said with a huff, his eyes narrowing as he searched the establishment. "I'd make fun of ya' if my ass wasn't at your beck and call." He said, his annoyance clear.

"I'll generously overlook your remark since you were as kind as to lend me your services!"

Not like Husk has a choice, anyway, Alastor thought.

"And as for the piece of scrap, I really have no clue! He decided to work at this greasy diner after seeing me here. Anyway.. You, my friend, should probably get to work!"

He gestures to the kitchen with a smile, before tucking his arms behind his back.

"Do call when you are in need of assistance!"

"Whatever. Guess he really can't be original." He said with a slight smirk before huffing at the direction. Though, as usual to avoid any wrath, he huffed and walked around the counter towards the back of the kitchen.

@deadbeatbartender

"Oh, why hello there Husker! It's nice to finally see a familiar face! Good golly, I have seen enough rectangular heads."

blink

"Hm? You are at this.. McDonald's thing. And for how long it had been, Im not quite sure! Either way, seems like you'll be assisting me for quite some time, no?"

Grin.

"Fuck, I guess I don't got a choice now." He said with a huff, his eyes narrowing as he searched the establishment. "I'd make fun of ya' if my ass wasn't at your beck and call." He said, his annoyance clear.

The sinners eyes are yellow and reptilian in nature. They also look very tired, like he has been up for several nights straight.

Husk allowed the sinner to sit at his bar, mixing a drink for another guest. He took only a moment to scan the man, writing him off as interesting but ultimately not worth his time.

When finished with the other customer, the bartender walked to the skeleton-like man, his gruff expression unfriendly as usual.

An interesting choice of drink. Famous among soldiers in the late 60s on earth. And named after the famous B-52 bomber plane. It is a layered cocktail made from kahlúa coffee liqueur, Irish cream bailey and grand mariner.

Reaching in to his pocket, the sinner pulled out a ragged old wallet.

He took out the shot glass, pouring each layer of the drink in front of the man in front of him. Carefully, he slid it forward, shaking his head when the sinner began to attempt to pay. As much as the feline despised turning away payment, he knew Charlie would have his head if he took it despite her rules.

He took out a single soul bill from his wallet before putting it away. Holding up the currency towards the Feline bartender that now had his back turned towards him again. “Am I at the very least allowed to tip an employee for a good service?”

When offered again, Husker huffed out a laugh, one of his hands finding a home on his hip. "I appreciate it 'n all, but my boss'd kick my ass if he caught me takin' tips."

He tried his best to hide it, But there was a hint of gloom in his voice when husker made the joke about the money burning a hole in his pockets. Hard to determine exactly why, But there was definitely something in those words that had given his mood a blow.

”Nah…. I just find myself sitting in a bit of money right now. And i won't be needing it in the near future….”

After a few seconds of silence the sinner smiled and finished his shot in a single gulp. Like his mood had been instantly brought up again.

"Hm, well, I'm sure there are some good local establishments that might interest ya'. Most have to do with sex 'n whatever they can sell ya', but there are a couple cute places. Charlie, the dame in charge, there's a nice little bakery local that she loves."

He wasn't intentionally trying to push the man out of his bar, but he hoped he could make his last living moments nice, assuming he was on his way to suicide or something sinister in that case.

His ears shifted as the veteran requested another drink, nodding and turning around. He grimmly chuckled at the thought of his superior, ignoring the way the word lit the flame of hatred in his heart that was almost constantly burning. He didn't say anything on that, as everyone had their own demons.

The sinners eyes are yellow and reptilian in nature. They also look very tired, like he has been up for several nights straight.

Husk allowed the sinner to sit at his bar, mixing a drink for another guest. He took only a moment to scan the man, writing him off as interesting but ultimately not worth his time.

When finished with the other customer, the bartender walked to the skeleton-like man, his gruff expression unfriendly as usual.

An interesting choice of drink. Famous among soldiers in the late 60s on earth. And named after the famous B-52 bomber plane. It is a layered cocktail made from kahlúa coffee liqueur, Irish cream bailey and grand mariner.

Reaching in to his pocket, the sinner pulled out a ragged old wallet.

He took out the shot glass, pouring each layer of the drink in front of the man in front of him. Carefully, he slid it forward, shaking his head when the sinner began to attempt to pay. As much as the feline despised turning away payment, he knew Charlie would have his head if he took it despite her rules.

He took out a single soul bill from his wallet before putting it away. Holding up the currency towards the Feline bartender that now had his back turned towards him again. “Am I at the very least allowed to tip an employee for a good service?”

When offered again, Husker huffed out a laugh, one of his hands finding a home on his hip. "I appreciate it 'n all, but my boss'd kick my ass if he caught me takin' tips."

The sinners eyes are yellow and reptilian in nature. They also look very tired, like he has been up for several nights straight.

Husk allowed the sinner to sit at his bar, mixing a drink for another guest. He took only a moment to scan the man, writing him off as interesting but ultimately not worth his time.

When finished with the other customer, the bartender walked to the skeleton-like man, his gruff expression unfriendly as usual.

An interesting choice of drink. Famous among soldiers in the late 60s on earth. And named after the famous B-52 bomber plane. It is a layered cocktail made from kahlúa coffee liqueur, Irish cream bailey and grand mariner.

Reaching in to his pocket, the sinner pulled out a ragged old wallet.

He took out the shot glass, pouring each layer of the drink in front of the man in front of him. Carefully, he slid it forward, shaking his head when the sinner began to attempt to pay. As much as the feline despised turning away payment, he knew Charlie would have his head if he took it despite her rules.