Mary Magdalene spent a fair amount of time in Fusion Blues. She may no longer live above it, but Nicolas - bless his heart - had told her she could drink for free. It was sweet, and she didn't deserve it. But she took the offer anyway, at least sometimes. It was nice to have somewhere to drown her sorrows that meant she wasn't using rent money.
So on this afternoon Mary was making a small pyramid of shot glasses from her whiskey when she felt the presence of an immortal somewhere nearby. She turned over her shoulder, feeling the excellent buzz of booze in her body, and spotted a man she recognised from the network.
She'd talked to him twice on his journal - one time he'd told her to fuck off and the other time he'd thanked her. Mary stood up. Time to find out what kind of day today was.
"Pat," she said to the barman, leaning over. "Pass me that bottle of whiskey."
With the bottle in hand she went over to the booth with the older looking man and put it on the table with two glasses before sitting down across from him. "It's the frequently de-frocked priest," she said as greeting.