Who: Tony, Finley & later Michael What: Finley wants revenge and Michael's tying up loose ends Where: A bar in Casper, Wyoming When: Backdated to late Friday night, February 15th 2019 Warnings: Language, violence & a character death
Tony wasn't exactly proud of it, but he also wasn't stupid enough to not be laying low. After the move he'd made against David Ryan that had regrettably and rather spectacularly failed, Tony had made a point of staying scarce for awhile. Not so scarce that he hadn't been leaving something of a body count in his wake wherever he went, but he was always gone almost as quickly as he'd arrived. He'd abandoned his apartment, he'd stopped showing up for work completely, not that he actually cared about holding down a job these days anyway. What actual use did he have for a career? He was a demon, such earthly needs were too far beneath him now.
He'd been moving around frequently for the last handful of months since he'd tried and failed to kill the pretty boy hunter, never staying in one place for too long and generally keeping to himself. Even Tali had gotten left behind, mostly because Tony didn't need anyone slowing him down. Yes, she may have been his partner in many respect over a short period of time, but Tony wasn't the type to get sentimental. When it came down to it, everyone was expendable. Even those who might have been considered friends by someone else's much more normal standards, but Tony was far from normal.
Why all of the running? Well, there was really only one reason why Tony would be trying this hard to get lost. He could hold his own, but he still wasn't exactly keen on running into Finley Melville anytime soon. He figured the other demon would be looking for some payback eventually for damaging his human plaything, and rather than be taken by surprise, Tony would prefer to see it coming.
The bar he'd walked into earlier that night had been full of people. It still was, technically. Full of dead bodies that now positively littered the place. An hour later and Tony now sat on a bar stool at the far end, covered in blood that wasn't his and casually sipping at a glass of strong whiskey, enjoying the dead (pun intended) silence in the room that was only interrupted by the occasional turn over of the Jukebox playing faintly in the back of the bar. As if on queue, after a few beats of quiet the first few chords of 'Bad Moon Rising' started straining through its speakers.
Lazily kicking at the lifeless form of someone who had the nerve to die slumped against his stool, Tony leaned with his back against the bar and surveyed the damage with a satisfied smirk. And here he'd been worried it would be a slow night.