Who: Spike and Dean Winchester. What: Boozing it up. Where: Large Irish pub in the city. When: Right after dusk. Rating: Medium, mainly for drinking and cursing.
Patiently, he had waited until dusk had fallen over the city like a veil and then stomped out of an apartment building that he hated with a passion. Originally, the plan had been to seek out a cemetery - after all, what proper city didn't have one, Sunnyhell had had dozens - to make himself at home in one of the crypts, but he found himself deviated from his cunning plan when he found a pub - an Irish pub at that. And of course, as everything else was in this place, completely devoid of people.
It was a good thing that that wasn't exactly a new situation for him either. He pushed against the wooden door of the pub and stalked his way inside, only to head straight for the bar where he grabbed a bottle of Whiskey. "Now we're in business." And for decency's sake, he grabbed a shot glass and even bothered to sit on the proper end of the bar before he poured himself some golden deliciousness. And after it had burned its way through his throat, Spike sighed happily.