Chaos And Destruction - AKA: Adrien Cross

Ye Olde Triangle
Clearly an older establishment, the Triangle has been done up in old Celtic
fashion. Having remained in the same place for many a year, it has collected
its share of regulars. An old bar runs the length of the wall directly opposite
the entrance, nicks and cracks evidence of hard use. The atmosphere is
generally rather placid with a small town feel despite it being located in one
of the world's major cities. To the west is a large fireplace that warms the
pubs on colder nights, several faded leather armchairs and a couch form a
semi-circle around a low table in front of it. To the east are table and
booths. The walls are decorated with seemingly eclectic imagery, everything
from old black and white pictures of families, to county sides, to what must be
celebrities who had visited. To the eastern corner of the bar is a short
hallway where payphones are located as well bathrooms and to the west is a
nondescript door that typically locked, however a hand truck located nearby
hints at it being a storage room.

(You must have IC permission, or request it, to go Up here.)

* Exits *
east - North Highland Ave
up - A Quaint Dwelling

The atmosphere within the quiet pub tonight is surprisingly peaceful, despite the crowd that pushes at the bar. Good natured banter and humorous insults are flung about apparently at random, occasionally intercepted by a comment from the new bartender as she sets down pint after pint of cheap beer. A stark contrast to the burly owner of this fine establishment, she looks young, early twenties perhaps, and is dressed in a style that doesn't quite fit the theme of the olde style Irish drinking hole. Baggy black cargo pants, complete with braces that sway unused about her knees and a close fitting white boybeater show off her waifish form and accentuate the vivid hues of her ebon, crimson and blonde hair. Nevertheless, she seems perfectly at home, swearing like a trooper and taking the occasional hurried slug of a pint hidden behind the taps.

Carl walks into the old pub with 2 other men, Carl wears his usual attire, Riped up jeans, black Tshirt and a vest with gang signs on it. He smiles as he looks around and starts to sing out. "Lenny kiled the sherrif… And the depty ran like a fucken wine drinker." he sings it like that famous song, he makes his way to the line at the bar, and seems to to waiting patiently. "Lenny killed the Rat cunt Sherriff, but his deputy pissed his pants!"

Seeming unbothered by the small group, much less the cheerful song that accompanies their arrival at her bar, the young woman moves onto them after setting down a few beers to those waiting nearby. Twirling an ancient looking, stained bar towel, she arches a single brow with a half-grin, eyeing Carl steadily with her vivid green eyes. "Sure, an' how often have we all ran like fockin' woine drinkers? Too fucken offen." she begins, with a sly wink. Glancing to his companions then back to the man himself, she braces her palms in a businesslike manner against the edge of the bar. "An' wha' cin oi be gettin you foine gentlemen tonight?" Her thick Irish accent is pleasant amidst the usual Californian drawls, if a little unexpected.

Carl looks at his friends for a moment, his happy face leaves his lips as he turns to the woman, starring at her lips for a moment, he starts to tap his forfinger on the bar, his men stop smiling as they look at eachother. "Too often lady.." he starst to laugh as he slams his hand on the table. "I want the fucken Local, two of them champ.." he takes a looks aroud for a moment. "Family orientated bar huh." he looks back at his friends for a moment. "You said this place would be fucken nice

"Want family oriented shite, there's a'ways Maccy D's." replies the bartender mildly, pouring the ordered drinks quickly and sliding them across the bartop toward the men. Reassuming her stance leaning on it's edge, she grins broadly as she addresses Carl. "Lemme guess.. yeh dun like the fockin' swearin'." She wrinkles her nose with a sniff, glancing idly toward her employer, who is for the moment preoccupied in front of the jukebox. "First ones're on the house, lads. Yeh still dun like it after 'em, yeh feel free to find somewhere better." With that, she turns away, stealing a swift couple of gulps from her near-empty pint glass before moving on to the next customers in line, resuming her bright smile.

Carl laughs as he moves towards a table and sits down, his men follow and do the same as Carltakes out a ciggar and lights it, with fear in his eyes as the flame touches the cigar. He also takes out a packet of playing card and stars t shuffle."Oh Danny Boy.. the Pipes the pipes are calling.." he starts to dealout but kees singing. "Irish Cunts only know how to drink a few then act like wine drinkers" he chucklesas he looks at his cards, shaking his head he folds. "ole Irish pub I bet your run by the cunt named Faaaaaaaaaace" he keeps in tune with the old folk song

Laughing and chatting animatedly as she serves up pints to the old regulars, the dark haired girl, chuckles with a wicked gleam in her eyes as she flits a glance toward Carl, evidently amused by his attempt at provoking her customers. Returning her attention to the generally middle-aged male crowd who look (and smell) as though they probably work at the docks, she begins to rouse them with a well known song, pointing at a few of them with one hand while the other tilts a pint glass at an angle beneath the tap. The first verse is rather incoherent, though most of them join in for the chorus. "Fuck you, I'm drunk, FUCK YOU, I'm drunk, pour my beer down the sink, I've got more in the trunk…" (5 successes singing)

Carl keeps playing poker for a moment then places his hand down he climbs up to the table. "Yeh better stop there big chiefians, because the english are comming and there gong to take your fucken beers and warm it up for ya.." he starts to laugh as he looks down at his men, he starts to make the wanking motion. God save the queen, god save the princes and princesses and god save the fucken England!!" he beats his chest and he starts to dance

The ominous door at the stop of the stairway opens up, and upon the top stair a bare foot can be seen. When the door closes, the feet begin to walk down, each step showing more and more of a pair of blue pajama bottoms, with white pin stripes on them. Eventually, at the bottom of the stair, there stands a rather average-sized man wearing a top to match the bottom. He really does look like he's just woken up. Except for the fact that he has a gun-holster strapped around his shoulder and chest, with a gun tucked neatly near his armpit. Wielded in his hand is a big glass mug, about the length as his head but with half the width.

Turning her attention back toward Carl, the slender girl behind the bar only increases the volume of her powerful voice. "Fuck you, I',m drunk.. FUCK YOU, I'M DRUNK.. AND I'M GONNA BE DRUNK TIL THE NEXT TIME I'M DRUNK!" A broad grin curves across her features as she eyeballs him, her boss and a few of the stouter regulars turning to regard the loudmouth, indifferent for now. "First of all, yeh fockin' wanker, do some readin'. It's the Scottish that hates the loimet bastards, not us." She pauses to take a lengthy slug from her beer, draining the remnants of her pint and leaving decorative froth across the glass. Licking her lips, she raises her voice above the laughter. "And secondly.. I reckon if -you're- tha spokesperson for 'em, our beers are safe enough. It's prolly the size of a fockin -pencil-, if yer lucky." She waggles a pinky finger by way of explanation, before tossing back her dark hair and ignoring the bikers, resuming her duties as her employer joins her behind the bar, frowning

Carl sits back down and goes back to playing his poker. He chuckles as he folds again. "Same game diferent fucken venue boooooys i fucken fold.." he lifts up a finger then looks around for a moment

The door to the east swings open slowly, and in comes a well kept handsome gentleman garbed in a form-fitting longsleeve shirt, and grey, almost shimmering slacks. The sounds of the world outside are dimmed among the cacophonous singing of the drunken pub choir. The man takes in the scene for several moments, not really moving from the door as it closes behind him.

Adrien shuffles past a few people and to the closest entrance to the bar, where he walks behind it and fills his own mug from what's on tap. A bill is pulled from the pocket of his pajama pants, and pushed at the owner before he mutters, "I know. I know. I'll go and get some clothing on. You know I can't function without the first pint though..". Topping off his mug, the wild-haired Occultist slowly begins to shamble back towards the stairs, nursing his beverage of choice.

Apparently satisifed that the bikers have chosen to enjoy their drinks rather than cause a ruckus, the dark haired young woman sets down a last few bottled beers, before satching up a battered pack of smokes from beside the register, casting a questioning glance toward her burly boss, arching a brow. At his curt nod, she flashes an enigmatic smile, walking briskly by to step out from behind the bar and hop onto a stool at the far end, deftly lighting a cigarette. Despite his gruff appearance and momentary distraction by the pajama-clad figure, her employer places a pint down before the girl with a subtle winkl, before ambling off to serve his -paying- customers. By way of greeting to the rapidly retreating back of Adrien, she calls. "Mornin', pretty eyes.."

"..Don't get your hopes up. I'm coming back. I just need to get a bigger gun and some pants..", Adrien calls back to Molly, meandering up the stairs while sipping at the massive glass of beer that he's holding. The stairs creak just a bit, but then stop after he disappears into the door.

Carl looks up and waves to Arturo, he chuckles as he looks around. " Fancy meeting you here big chiefian." he kicks a chair and it slides out for Adrien. "You havent touched the cunts i told you not to touch have I?"

Arturo raises an eyebrow from his vantage by the door, and for a moment just stares forward, his mouth moving slightly as if he were saying something. He then moves over towards Carl in a few careful strides, avoiding contact with the patrons around him, and standing by the table where he is seated. "Still looking your usual self." the dapper man notes, and gives a subtle knowing grin to Carl as he remains standing nearby.

Molly chuckles to herself at Adrien's reply, exhaling her smoke in a plume toward the beams of the ceiling, her green eyes following the hazy trail. As a familiar melody begins on the jukebox, one foot, clad in a treacherous looking platform-soled boot taps along in steady rhythm.

Adrien leaves up.

Carl chuckles as he deals Arturo in.. he smiles for a moment he then looks over to the bartender. "Barkeep,another round please!" he chuckles as he winks to Arturo. "Ohh and i need some help here, please come quickly!"

Ashing her cigarette, the young woman's attention appears to drift as she absently reaches for her drink, bringing it to her lips for a few mouthfuls of the cold beer it contains.

Arturo raises an eyebrow at Carl, obviously thinking him odd. He proceeds to take a seat finally, and looks over to where Carl has called to the purveyor or employees, waiting for something interesting to happen. He flips the corner of the cards up slightly, and looks at what he has, then lets them stay flat.

Carl shakes his head as he looks at Arturo. "This Irish fucken pub pisses me off.." he looks at the woman, as he wags his middle finger. "I dont pay you to drink fucken beer, i pay for service, now bring that skinny no but boddy here with two fucken drinks and some fucken money cause your playing pocker wether the english come in and start rapping your fucken culture or not.." he looks at the patrons. "Im a fucken Lunatic, Im carl fucen Carlson and if anyone wants to throw fucen down, il pretend im Englsih and do a nuber on you cunts.. its a history lesson!"

In mild amusement, the girl slowly turns her gaze toward Carl, lazily exhaling smoke. "Ye didn' fockin pay at all. An' I'm on me break." As if on cue, the burly barman and owner of the establishment thumps two beers down on the scarred and sticky counter. "'Sides.." she continues, flashing the biker a slight grin, "I dunna how ta play, Carl fockin Carlson."

Through all of the ruckus and music and sound that's crawling through Ye Olde Triangle, the sound of shattering glass and malevolent cursing floats down from upstairs. Carl hears it. Arturo definitely hears it. Molly's blessedly oblivious to it, perhaps having been enjoying her cigarette too much. A few of the people in the Triangle glance up to the staircase, while others either don't hear it or ignore it. The massive, burled mountain of a man who is the proprietor just shakes his head, grumbling in his baritone, "That bai..".

Arturo looks to Carl with mild amusement, and again at his hand. He folds his arms across his chest, and heaves a sigh. "So if you don't like the place, let's hit the titty bar." he says in a quiet but not secretive tone. He looks over at the purveyor, as if there would be any chance he would be heard, and then back to those at the table. "Besides, we need to make a date if you're still up for it."

Elijah has arrived.

Carl looks upstairs and starts tolaugh.."TAXI" he shouts out as he climbs ontop of the Table so he can clearly see Molly. "Carl Fucken Carlson will.." he looks down at Arturo as picks up his ciggar and starts to smoke it. "thank fuck you brought that Up, Il be needing it later.." he sts down as his smart arse demenor leaves him, he watches Arturo. "Your the man, we know that, what the fuck are you plans…" he leans forward."Take that BArtender and fuck her off yeh?" He winks at arturo

Pointedly ignoring Carlson, the dark haired girl with the piercings regards her boss with a curious expression across the foamy rim of her pint. "Wha' 'bout 'im?" she queries after a moment, as he shuffles by again. Her cigarette is brought to her lips once again, between a middle and forefinger, amid a dull jangle of the bracelets that adorn her wrist.

There's a distinct thumping against the ceiling just above Carl Carlson. It hits hard, six times, coming from the upper floor. He notices it. Arturo doesn't, but this time Molly does. The second and third thumps and bumps are accompanied by garbled swearing and a metallic 'clank' sound. That's probably one hell of a lively happening that's going on up there.

The door to the bar opens slowly, allowing a thin figure to slide in, barely disturbing the atmosphere of the bar. He gently allows the door to fall shut, turning back around to face the establishment, his supermodel-esque features revealed in full, illuminated by the dim lighting of the small, smoky bar. A black jacket is worn over a plain white t-shirt on the man's chest, blue jeans on his legs and black chuck taylor's on his feet. A large, leather-bound book is held under one arm, his silver-green eyes watching the goings-on of the bar alertly.

Arturo looks nonplussed by the whole situation as he sits with Carl. He slides a few bills into the center of the table, and looks over his shoulder to see Elijah enter. He offers a very charming smile in the young man's direction before going back to Carl. "So, when you fold, and I leave, call me. We'll set it up." he says again in a slightly hushed tone.

Carl shakes his head as he keeps his eyes on Arturo. "Wont be doing it any time soon, I love this fucken Face, but once it gets too hot ilchange it.." he looks at his cards and folds quickly, he looks over towards the new commer and places two thumbs up. "Heeeeey!" he smiles like the fonze then looks back at Arturo. "Tell me when I left for vacation there was some shootings and shit here..

A slight frown darkens the young bartender's brow as she glances upward, her green eyed gaze drawn by the sudden sounds resonating through the floor. "Oh." she says, answering her own question. Gently setting down what remains of her pint, she stubs out the last of her cigarette, casting her boss a brief glance as she rises. "I'm jest gunna.." she begins, only to trail off, her wandering footsteps toward the stairs explanation enough. Moving through the jovial, swaying crowd, she alights the creaking staircase quietly, halting at the door it leads to and tapping upon it with her knuckles, tilting her head forward a little to listen for a response.

Elijah offers both men a stoic nod, his attractive features untouched by ripples of emotion or change. He simply takes a seat at their table, setting his book to the side, next to his right elbow. "Evening." The handsome man says in a voice as detached as his features, silver-green eyes moving between Arturo and Carl with an analytical gaze.

Arturo chuckles softly, and makes a gesture for the door. "While you were on vacation, I got myself some new friends." It isn't clear exactly who or what he is gesturing at, but he seems to be pleased with himself none the less. He continues more eagerly as Elijah takes a seat, and adds "And, Hades burned to the ground just a little while ago." He nods assuringly at Carl, casting a stray glance to Elijah, his face devoid of any emotion at all, save for perhaps curiousity.

Another hard slam against the ceiling causes it to buckle in just a bit, cracking. Golden beer begins to pour down, trickling from the building's wound and onto both Carl and the table he's sitting at. There's a third 'Clank' sound, and with the new opening, a more audible version of, "I'm going to stick my fucking foot up your ass and out your mouth, and then polish my shoes!". A last smash brings part of the ceiling down, two men landing on top of Carl Carlson and his table, right in the middle of the bikers. The first man is Adrien Cross, wearing a bath robe and wielding a metal pipe. The second man looks homeless, except for his razor-claws and glowing red eyes. A second man in a business suit looks down from the second floor, through the hole. He too has glowing red eyes. And yet, a third one opens the door at the top of the stairs and grabs the front of Molly's clothing, trying to drag her in.

Adrien has arrived.

Gasping with surprise, jerked forward by the front of her boybeater, the dark haired young woman struggles to keep her footing, her left hand clutching at the fingers that capture the material, as if to pry them free. Her right arm arcs back immediately, before striking forward to aim a punch toward her attacker's face. At the same time, she throws her slight weight backward hard,uncaring about the stairs behind her as she notes the glowing red eyes before her.

Arturo stands quickly and moves to the door, opening it just slightly and checking something outside. He props it open fully, and moves to the sidewalk, giving a commanding sounding whistle into the air as he steps from the pub for a few moments. He seems to be untieing a pair of leashes from a nearby bike rack outside, and begins to move back near the door, choosing to remain outside.

The alert, statuesque man's eyes widen as he grabs the book from his table just before the beer spills onto it, saving the ancient pages from alcoholic ruin. He instantly moves back towards a corner of the bar, sliding into a booth, watching the goings-on with an analytical, alert gaze.

While Carl cheers on the death-fight that's fallen through to the first floor of Ye Olde Triangle, Adrien hits his assailant in the head with the metal pipe again, revealing it to be the source of the mysterious 'clank' sound that had been resounding from upstairs. Arturo manages to get out, but the dogs have a bit of a time getting back in, due to the amount of patrons who've bolted for the door all at the same time, and are trampling one another to get out. Molly's punch strikes true, smashing her attacker in the face, but is returned with equal parts of a backhand bitch-slap that leaves three red trails of blood on the side of her face. The man holding her spits, "Ist mein GRATHUK.". The last of the weird attackers, still on the second floor, stops looking down through the hole and begins to riffle through drawers and chests upstairs.

Carl gives the fighting men some room, he looks to his boys and shakes his head. "Fuck Em fellas, let them fight it out.." He starts to clap as he looks at the players, he hears the screaming foriegn language and starst to scream out his own made up language. "Ich Fudder, Mein Cunt has bien luuuuder!" he starst to laugh as he shaouts out. "Fucken Hell its different when your not involved!"

Molly grits her teeth against the harsh blow across her cheek, momentarily stunned but keeping her balance even still. Gripping the sides of the man's face, she digs her nails in deep and drags them downward in retaliation, at the same time lifting one knee and bringing her sturdy boot down hard on his kneecap, aiming to smash it. "… fock off me, fockin Nazi twat!" is all that can be heard of her yelling over the din of the stampede for the doors.

Arturo moves to the side of the door as patrons rush screaming from the establishment, pulling the leashes slightly. The two large bull mastiffs he holds move to slightly behind him at his flanks, and sit at the tug. He continues to peek in at odd moments when the patrons passing allows it, gazing upon the happenings within.

The handsome man continues to sit in his corner booth, his leather-bound book placed carefully on the table in front of him. He slides into the very far side of the booth, leaving the large, wooden table between him and the rest of the bar.

"Fuck. You. Mother. Fucker.", Adrien declares, while he trades blows with the beast on top of him, metal bar for claw-strokes. Neither seem to be winning, but both seem to be getting fucked up nicely. Molly's attack on her assailant succeeds, dragging her nails down the side of his face and tearing chunks of flesh that get stuck, but she misses with her blow to the knee, causing her to topple back. She'd fall, if he wasn't holding her. So he doesn't, and lets her topple down the stairs. Arturo and Elijah do their spectating thing, while the last attacker continues to assault the upstairs portion, digging through this or that. He seems awfully needy to find something.

Carl leans back and laughs as he looks around. "Fight to the fucken Death here fellas, dont see this shit happen now days.." he eyes out Elijah and point to the floor next to him. " Come on maaaaan, you like to fucken see Murders, come a little fucken closer and enjoy the smell.." he takes a big wiff, his biker friends though look closley so they dont get hurt, Carl keeps acting like a Moron. " The fuck is Arturo gone!"

Her mouth in an 'O' of surprise, the girl half falls through the air and half tumbles down the stairs, without even the time to cry out. Landing twisted on her side,her palms braced on the floor, she remains still for a moment, winded but otherwise unhurt, apparently. Her dark hair falls tousled about her face as she tentatively opens her eyes, casting a searching glance about her before looking back up to the door of the first floor.

Arturo purses his lips together, and a very high pitched and loud whistle emits forth. His dogs perk up for a moment, but remain seated. "Carl, you can just get a pay-per-view show." he then shouts into the bar. "Are you coming or what?" He seems to lean into view in the doorway now, two leashes trailing behind. At least one of the large, unwittingly drooling dogs is visible to any in sight of the door.

Carl walks out towards the door and seeing the dogs he starst t run for his life. "Next time leave the fucken pooch at home!"

Elijah sits where he is, entirely undisturbed by Carl's commentary. His silver-green eyes leave the bloody awesomeness for a moment to stare at Arturo's visible dog, a smile on the handsome man's features as he waves to it. He glances back to the fight, watching each movement of the brawling men, studying their features and attacks as a chemist studies an experiment.

Mostly all of the people have managed to clear the challenging door of Ye Olde Triangle, and escape into the night. The attacker atop of Adrien manages to shove a claw right through his cheek during an attempt to grapple his face. The bath-robed Occultist responds in like, reaching up with his thumb and driving it into one of the glowing eyes above him. The creature shrieks, but not as much as he does when a blast of glowing light bursts forth from upstairs, momentarily illuminating everything on the second floor, and then some on the first. The sound of a broken window is heard again, before one of them lands on the street outside and begins an outright run without much of a pause. He's clutching what appears the be a scroll case. Molly has a good sight, from her stair-spot, to see the disintegration of the one she'd been fighting. Whoever can't see it, might notice the thick clout of ash drifting down through the hole in the roof.

Arturo smirks as Carl runs past him, watching him with a swivel of his head. He winces slightly at the explosion of light, and snaps his fingers. A chittering sound comes from his lips as he looks down to his dogs and snaps his fingers so, and he unhitches their leashes. "Let's see if he can outrun you two." he whispers into the night. The two dogs go hurtling down the sidewalk, and Arturo does his best to stay within earshot of them, keeping a light jogging pace. He shouts above the commotion outside "Don't move, or be eaten."

Molly remains where she is, her green eyes widening fractionally as her attacker disintegrates before her. She seems to recover surprisingly quickly, however, casting her gaze about her to see if there might be any other witnesses before struggling to haul herself to her feet. Wincing, she presses one hand under her ribs,the other leaning on her knee as she remains stooped for a moment, catching her breath. Meanwhile, her attention slowly wanders to alight upon Adrien, regarding him with a mild expression of weary scolding.

Elijah walks over to the pipe-armed man, extending a hand out to the fellow, his book under his free arm. His silver-green eyes watch Adrien closely as he waits for the grounded warrior to take his hand. "That was amazing." He says, making sure his book is secure under his arm.

The last of the attacking trio manages to outpace Arturo's dogs at a three-to-one ratio, which doubles when he grabs the scroll case in his mouth and literally begins to run on his hands and legs, like it were nothing more than a secondary way to locomotion. After a bit of chase, the dogs turn about and return, fruitless in their efforts. Adrien seems miffed, but probably has a right to be as he's wearing nothing but a bath robe, and his face and chest are doing an impression of tenderized meat, "..That was..fucking something..".

Arturo snaps his fingers from outside on highland, and his dogs return. He leashes them, and walks up the street at a casual pace, as he rewards the dogs with some ear-ruffling and firm "Good dogs."

Riley is walking along holding the hand of a young girl with long black hair and deep blue eyes. Both are dressed rather simply, with the attractive man wearing a simple pair tattered jeans and a light brown shirt, made out of a thin material. Lightly adorning it is a japanese orange lotus motiff. The young girl accompanying him is dressed just as simply, wearing a pair of denim jeans and a white hoody with a pink genji upon the back for "Flower". They cannot help but pause and stop as they look at the scene from outside the doorway, the older man bringing a hand to lightly cover the girl's eyes.

Having come by on her usual rounds, Ella pauses just outside the front door of the Triangle. Seeing Arturo, she turns around, putting her back to the street in order to let him pass without really seeing her. A curious frown touches her lips, especially when she sees two people blocking her way inside. Drawing in a deep breath, the diminutive woman with the knee-high boots and skinny black jeans slips beside the couple in the doorway, "Excuse me, pardon me," she mumbles by way of apology as her keen grey eyes sweep over the room. Arching one angular eyebrow she asks, "What the hell…?" her voice trailing off until she spots Adrien, causing those lovely eyes to widen even further.

Molly grits her teeth as she straightens gingerly, one hand still holding her ribs as she winces. Not bothering to sweep aside her dark bangs, she moves to lean her shoulders back against the nearby wall, letting her green eyes fall half-closed as she regards the two remaining figures within the destroyed bar. Crimson trails of dark blood seep steadily from the three deep wounds across her cheek, going unheeded for the moment.

Riley pulls the small girl back lightly with one arm, as he likewise takes a step back. The small girl's hand can be seen lightly squeezing the handsome man's hand, as though seeking reassurance. Remaining outside, he lightly pulls the hood up over the girls face, attempting to hide the semi naked man in his forties from her young eyes.

Adrien stumbles around for a moment, dropping the lead pipe that's been spattered with dark blood now, and getting his bearings. He doesn't even think to check and see what it was that was taken. Either he doesn't know, or this is just something that happens more than it should. Still a bit dazed, he walks over the debris that used to be a piece of the second floor, and skirts the bar. He puts his mouth right under the beer tap, but is slapped by the owner. So instead, he scowls, grabs a mug, and goes to fill it. The owner, large and burled old Mac, mutters, "One thing I always hated about California. All the damned vampires..", in a way that only he and Adrien would really hear.

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