Butch Cassidy is not Irish, nor Catholic--in fact, true story, he's a Mormon whose parents were English and Scottish immigrants. He's also from a time before the days of green beer and excessive use of food coloring. But he does know an Irish girl who used to work at Fannie Porter's (until she married a rancher), name of Mary Grace, who could ( Read more... )

Michael sits at a table in the bar without food or drink. He's flipping through a rather large and ancient bible.

On the table is a red pen. He intends to use it.

Anyone nearby will hear Michael's laugh on occasion. Quite a few sound rather suspiciously like a snort.

The red pen gets used to circle or underline, though--it should be noted--never to ( Read more... )

Raguel's got the feeling that someone is looking over his shoulder. Not in a prying way; just there, constant, and it's not someone he looks forward to seeing ( Read more... )

Bah. Sundays. Boring. Hence, one incarnation of Satan, inna bar. He's smoking as usual and for once, isn't surveying the denizens of Bar. He's staring out of the observation window instead with a blank expression.

Could mean anything.

[OOC: Need to slowtime for one hour, say sorry. Will be back after that! Back!]

Crowley can't turn invisible, exactly. He doesn't have an invisibility cloak, nor any sort of trinket or talisman that'll do the job for him; neither is he possessed of the ability to make himself so through the quirks of - say - genetics, or radiation, or the bite of a super-powered insect ( Read more... )

Thom, at a table, sketchbook open before him; pencil twirling between two thin fingers. He seems to find it a little dull.

It's been a long time since Lucifer brought his guitar - well, his stolen guitar - into the bar, but for no apparent reason it's lying across his lap as he sits on a table in one of the booths. If you can be bothered to notice these things, his hair is a little longer than it has been, and threatening to start to curl just the tiniest bit ( Read more... )

Raguel's in the bar - in a corner, but he's certainly not hiding. Not with those battered great wings spread out behind him. He does seem to be kind of half-hunched over an ashtray, though, and looking rather like he's got an unpleasant duty in front of him.

It may not happen tonight, but he's certainly not mistaken about that.

So. Sam ate an apple, earlier. (You'd think, with his history, he'd know this was a bad idea ( Read more... )

Unobtrusively, Michael enters the bar. He does a thorough visual search of the room for anyone of interest as he makes his way to a corner booth.