[CLOSED/COMPLETED]

[salvationdenied]

WHO: Everyone :D
WHAT: It's a Wednesday night, and what better way to pass the hump than by getting a nice, cold, strong drink.
WHERE:  Ancora Una Volta, a regular place, for regular guys, who like their drinks a-comin' and the waitresses cute
WHEN: Day 71, Wednesday night, after seven in the evening

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[canecieco]

After a long day of training, sparring, meetings, thinking someone is gonna shoot you in the back - after a long day in the life of a mafiosa, he liked to unwind, relax, take a load off. Sometimes, he'd pick up a chick on the street corner, say sweet things until she's practically crawling in his lap. Sometimes, he likes to go straight home, bitch with Sammy, eat supper, watch retarded movies until they both pass out on the couch. Sometimes, he likes to have a stiff drink.

It was an old bar. A familiar bar with a nice smell, and a nice taste. It wasn't like the kind where old people went and everything was boring and the waitresses had saggy tits. It was an old bar, but refreshing and he kept coming back for more. It was a favorite haunt, a favorite place to get a Manhattan or Purple Nurple.

It was also a place in which some good ol' Vescovos liked to hang out.

"Hello there, handsome," he chuckled, saddling up next to Brian already doing shots like a champ. "Been here long?"

[salvationdenied]

The man looked over at him, grinning like a mad man, and downed the shot before extending a hand for the man.

"Been here long enough that Miss Pretty Long Legs is looking like the finest piece of ass this side of the Vatican."

The grin was wide, wider than normal, and he winked at the girl he had been talking to.

[gettingawaywith]

Dexter had been wary lately of wandering into public places to scope out his prey, with the careful scrutiny he'd fallen under with Gavin. For all he knew, there could be tabs kept on him, or the guy had completely forgotten that Dexter Morgan existed

[canecieco]

Dean took a gander at the waitress in discussion: short, blond, legs going on for miles. The kid had good taste, and Dean liked that. He patted him on the back, smiling, and ordering a manly drink from the bartender.

"Go get her, tiger. All yours," he chuckled again. The drink came fast, and he swallowed it down in one swig. Burned down his throat like swallowing mouthwash, but it was refreshing, good for his bones, his weary body.

[salvationdenied]

Brian nodded and took a swig from the beer bottle sitting next to him as he finishes his shot. The blond was pretty, yes, he had to admit that. She was even downright sexy in that miniskirt and low swung top.

However.

The stirring almost tickling sensation of blood filling the lower regions of his body had nothing to do with the idea of fucking her.

No, Brian was thinking about those ballerina legs of hers, how they would look detached from the rest of her. Hanging in his one bedroom apartment like two beautiful pieces of art. Those hands and fingers, disconnected at the tendons and bones, cracked in half, the blood neatly drained and--

Oh. He was staring too hard. Brian could tell by the way she was looking at him, half scared, half flattered but mostly... scared.

So he rectified it by winking again and taking another sip and turning his thoughts away from the idea of her body cut up, dissected into neat, packaged little pieces.