After
things go pear-shaped with Tiwa ...
They go arguably
even more pear-shaped. (Warning for sexual content of dubious consent in both links. Also: demons.)
If you thought you'd seen Matt at the most miserable and exhausted he could get, you haven't seen him tonight. He's in the middle of the bar at a (relatively) brightly lit table, methodically drinking coffee and methodically poring over an assortment of herbs, odds and ends, table salt, and candles; occasionally he refers to one of a small stack of books. His clothing-- vest, tie, button-down shirt, jeans-- is all somewhat rumpled, the chain of his silver crucifix peeking out.
Every now and then, he glances towards a new sign on the notice board.
ATTN ALL PATRONS, STAFF, ETC:
I KNOW SOME OF YOU MAY HAVE VALID REASONS TO HATE ME RIGHT NOW.
HOWEVER, THERE'S A FUCKING DEMON IN THIS BAR, AND NOT THE PLAY NICE KIND.
I THINK IT'S UPSTAIRS. I RECOMMEND SALT AND SILVER. DON'T GO ALONE.
-MATTHEW H JAMISON