#sdclore

The evacuation message from the city got to Dermot a little too late for him to get into the Firestation. Which was probably one of the safest places in the city, when he was turned down due to the overabundance of people he tried to find somewhere that would let him in. Turns out quite a few people were turned down by the fire station and the Vittori hotel and found themselves in Charlie’s club. Dermot personally had never been there before and the sight of some men dressed in skimpy leather had him questioning whether or not he should risk heading back out to find somewhere else.

The Irishman was much too sober for any of this, manoeuvring his way through drunks and other refugees escaping the storm to find himself some hard liquor and a place to sit. Of course with the number of displaced people, it was absolutely crowded. “Holy hell,” the man muttered under his breath. In the sea of people sat a blonde woman perched at a seat near the windows by herself. With two bottles of liquor in hand, he took the seat across from her with an audible sigh and squeak of the metal chair against hardwood, “Hope this seat wasn’t taken,” he popped the lid off one of the bottles. Making himself right at home. Taking a long swing from the glass before letting his gaze rest on the woman again, "you ever read Lord of the Flies?” the man asked with his eyebrows furrowed, “well once they stop servin’ alcohol this place is gonna end up like that shite.”