(Untitled)

[un_fallen]

Raguel's in the corner booth drinking a beer, and it looks like he needs it. He levels a ferocious scowl at the rest of the bar as his eyes scan over it, but to all appearances he isn't really seeing anyone else. Comes of working too hard, most likely.

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[takiena_called]

Finn (a boy in sturdy canvas pants, a collared but practical blue shirt, and a plain sword in a plain scabbard at his side) is walking past--a roundabout way to the fire, sure, but the chairs were all clustered and he couldn't be bothered to move them, especially seeing how his arms are wrapped around a notebook and a pencil case and all.

He catches the scowl, though, and stops with a jerk. He's not entirely sure if it was being leveled at him, but how does he know?

Raguel is being watched with a vaguely curious, vaguely concerned half-frown of uncertainty.

[un_fallen]

A boy with a pencil case and a sword isn't so unusual around here, but as Raguel watches him, the scowl deepens. He tries to tone it down - quickly - when he sees the boy looking.

"Evening," he says with a nod, trying to make up for it.

[takiena_called]

Finn bites his lip, momentarily, before Raguel speaks. Then he relaxes, and smiles back hesistantly.

"Um, hi," he says, hopefully. "I--are, um. Things...okay?"

[un_fallen]

His laugh is a little broken, though it would be more generous to call it 'rusty.'

"Kinda," he says, because anything one way or the other would be half of the truth.

"They will be."

[andalsoacts]

Wearing a stylishly cut suit that makes her look like a 1920's mobster, complete with an unlit cigar between her fingers.

"You ok, hon?"

[un_fallen]

He blinks out of whatever unpleasant zone he was staring into and focuses on her.

"Yeah. Thanks, just uh. You know, not a great week, work-wise." He swallows, takes a breath.

"Need a light?" He flicks open a lighter and gives her a questioning look.

[andalsoacts]

"Oh, no! I only smoke cigarettes. It's a prop." Harry's smile is gently sympathetic. "I'm sorry about your week. Want the cigar?"

She offers it over.

[un_fallen]

"Obliged, but I'm kind of a cigarette guy myself," he says, dropping the lighter back into his pocket.

"Anyway, you might need your prop when you get back. Don't suppose you do your acting in Los Angeles, do you?"

[un_fallen]

Neither is Raguel, so they should get along famously!

He is vaguely aware that someone is staring, but it'll take a minute or two to find his way out of the mental maze he's in and investigate who it is.

[un_fallen]

This snaps him out of it a little more quickly. He reins in the glare - mostly - and looks over.

"Bad couple of days," he says shortly. "What's with--" He holds up a hand as she did, to demonstrate.

[aj_crawley]

Stop press! The sky is falling, the seas are boiling, and a billion sushi dinners cry out for vengeance: just to make Raguel's day perfect, the demon that slithers into the booth opposite him looks so hale and hearty you could punch him.

He's practically glowing.

The bastard.

[un_fallen]

The look Raguel gives him is deeply unimpressed.

"And were the hell have you been?"

He tries to make it a question rather than an accusation.

[aj_crawley]

There isn't actually room to do so, but Crowley nevertheless manages to give the distinct impression of having swung his boots up onto the tabletop. He does spread out against the back of the booth, though, arms stretched along the top of the bench.

"I," he says expansively, "have been On Holiday."

[un_fallen]

"Ah," he says, and rolls his eyes expressively.

"That Jamaica trip you were going on about? No wonder you're looking smug."

He does not actually grumble to himself, but he manages to give that impression as well.