Castiel had had no idea what to expect, but a rough on the edges blonde with a southern accent.... wasn't particularly an idea that had occurred to him.
He stared for a moment, but not being destroyed on site or reprimanded, he decided that for the moment the Wrath wasn't directed at him.
He looked at the bar and slowly, automatically slid onto a stool.
The bartender approached him, and he responded with his usual pensive stare before he felt a jet of strange emotion encourage him to speak.
"Whiskey. Strong. The bottle and a glass," he muttered. The bartender didn't even blink twice, and when he had the first glass in front of him he took a deep drink. The more human he became the more easily alcohol affected him, but it was still tough to get drunk.
He wondered if God found it as difficult, or if He could make it so the beer he was drinking had a kick that was worthy of the Creator.
Finally he looked over, setting the empty glass down and pouring himself another.