crawfordstone: (RAGE FACE)

[personal profile] crawfordstone 2017-03-21 01:53 am (UTC)(link)
And in the moments following the words, Crawford did wait rather expectantly for the refusal. For that glimmering moment he'd thought the priest might actually have a little spine, as the bar wasn't exactly an upstanding establishment. He'd thought maybe, just maybe, the other had found a sliver of sense. But, disappointingly, nothing happened. That was it. Just thanks.

Shaking his head and grumbling something under his breath, Crawford just walked away, deeper into the store. He had to stock up at least enough to get him through to his shift. And get something to smash this headache.

That night, he was right where he said he would be. He'd dealt with the headache the only way that ever really worked (no one would notice the alcohol on a bartender's breath). He looked far more at home behind the bar of the old, run down building. The whole place looked as though a stiff wind might blow it down. It was dimly lit, smelled like an old basement, and held only a small scattering of patrons. But the night was young, relatively speaking.

Crawford himself was leaning over the bar, both hands planted on the counter, fierce gaze boring into a man who looked rather pickled. "You wanna to drink here, you pay up front. We don't run a bloody tab for degenerates. So you got two options: pay up or I chuck your arse out the door!"
crawfordstone: (No.)

[personal profile] crawfordstone 2017-03-28 12:44 am (UTC)(link)
A few of the patrons eyed Luca warily. No one gave him any trouble, but they seemed uncomfortable with him there. Most, however, seemed to prefer to act like he wasn't there at all, focused on their drinks or their company instead. A woman who had been sitting at the bar seemed more uncomfortable than most. She got up a little too fast and relocated to the completely opposite side of the cramped space. Her profession wasn't exactly one the church approved of.

The man Crawford was yelling at muttered something incoherent into his empty glass, before pushing it toward the bartender. Crawford didn't move, staring at him, letting out a hard breath, but the drunk man just stared at his glass like it would fill itself. Crawford then turned his head toward a man sitting in the shadows where the bar met the wall. The man was roughly the size and weight of a refrigerator. Crawford just jerked his head at the man, and the problem took care of itself. The fridge man lifted the drunk man as if he weighed no more than a bundle of grapes, and shoved him out the door.

Only then did Crawford slide his gaze to Luca. If he was surprised to see the man, he didn't show it. "Welcome to the real world, Padre," he said, standing into his customary slouch. "Fraid all we got for the likes of you to drink is water."