Who: Loki and Bartleby Where: A bar in Jersey. When: This evening, shortly after Bartleby's arrival. What: The old Angel pals getting very inebriated. Warnings: Alcohol, drunken antics and swearing. Past that, I'll let you know. Warnings Edit: Death, gore, some of the swearing's pretty vulgar and Angel mansmut.
It was an odd coincidence that Bartleby had shown up after his conversation with Sofia Wood, but Loki had brushed that off pretty quickly. Maybe the Lord was listening after all, she was being awfully quiet about it. Arriving in front of the bar he'd suggested, Loki checked his watch before strolling inside, instantly his senses flared up to detect every scumbag in there, but tonight wasn't about business. He'd laid off on the killing and had taken to only focusing on the lowlifes that really didn't have nay other place in the world. At least that would appease Death, rather than him blowing her friends to bits. It bugged him, but he was pretty much over it as long as he could focus on anything but being a Guardian.
Strolling in he walked to the counter and sat, holding off on ordering before Bartleby's arrival. He wanted to hate him and still he couldn't. He remembered how badly he'd wanted to go Home too, and it was true, Azrael was a tricky son of a bitch. He let it go, like everything else with an unnecessary sigh, looking around to make sure Bartleby hadn't snapped himself to Arabia, or something.