Who: Big Tobacco and OPEN What: Wallowing. Where: 3 Sheets Saloon (NYC bar) When: Evening of September 12th
No one paid him any mind when he walked in. Every day people had their own problems, their own thoughts and their own philosophies on everything from God to street corners. This was the me generation. Too involved with themselves to recognize a deity in their midst. Once upon a time Big Tobacco would have been offended by the lack of attention. Anonymity was a god killer after all and he'd have the world fall apart before he became a shadow like the ancients.
Right now he didn't mind. He needed to be somewhere that was at once familiar and not his. He'd been pacing his penthouse for weeks. A caged restless monster that had too many outlets to choose from and a too short attention span that meant he couldn't focus on one.
When he left it had been in a hurry. He left a note on the wall. Written in bright red spray paint.
GONE FISHIN' DON'T FORGET TO FEED THE CAT
And now he was here. In a poorly lit bar where everyone talked too much and didn't drink enough. There was no smoking either. Hadn't been for a long time and what the fuck was that about anyway? Sure he killed people. There wasn't a thing in the world that wouldn't kill you if you thought about it long enough. He had the good grace to do it slowly with style. Living didn't mean shit. Having something you enjoyed kill you was everything.
He drained his whiskey in one go. The alcohol didn't burn and lacked taste as it went down. The bartender didn't say anything even as some of the liquid dribbled down the ruined half of Tobacco's face.
When he set the glass back down he gave a death's head grin.