Laurel Hill Springs

Gil and the crew are busy slinging drinks.
The cook makes tasty snacks for customers.
Weston sings for the crowd, soothing the souls of the patrons.
Vik is mainly doing "boss stuff" that helps her avoid saying “I don’t wanna socialize.” It seems she's abandoned some paperwork task for cocoa-making.
The big glass roller-doors are down; a little condensation has fogged the edges of the panes. Those deep red sheers are not dancing in refreshing breeze tonight… But, despite the nip of the cold air outside, the mood inside is the same as the very first night. Relaxed, good company, cheap drinks and snacks despite the very finely crafted space.
Gil and staff near either door chirp, “Haaay!” when someone arrives.
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Vik comes out from the back with a champurrado-“spiced” hot cocoa concoction for guests to try. Her cheeks are warm and cozy red. It seems she’s been enjoying them!

He rumbled up and turned the engine of the 2013 Indian Scout off. Pulling a piece of paper from the inside of his jacket. He read the writing on the nite and crammed it back into his jacket. He slung his leg over his motorcycle and removed the key from the ignition and made his way to the door.



With one pull, he would open the door and he shuffled in and looked around before making his way into the bar and taking a seat. He ran his fingers through his black hair. The vigilante would then let out a sigh. It was nice to have a break. Who knew hunting criminals in such a small town would be so taxing? Either way, after his meeting with the Rabbi, he felt reinvigorated and focused.

Vik hears the Scout pull up before the mysterious stranger appears. She loves a bike! Perking up with interest, the pale witchy woman peers out one of the sheer-draped windows to have a looksie before the guest enters. Not many people fluster her, but for some reason this dude does. She looks at the tray of warm cups and then the hammered copper endless ice cup, thinking of Jackson. She grumbles awkwardly at herself and makes a weird face at Gillian who is skirting around again, clueless to Vik's goofy distress.

Gil is surely the first to speak, so Vik leaves it at that while making the rounds to offer out her testers to customers. Allison and Pearl are chit-chattering in the cozy little book corner the vampire doctor tends to enjoy... They'd come to terms with odd feelings and blood donations a long time ago. Vik continues to help her find suitable friends from whom she can safely receive blood. Allison didn't seem too into "vigilantes", but might be keen on people who check certain boxes coming to the hospital... If there could be such an arrangement, perhaps.

She lingers with them a while as the mysterious stranger is greeted by Gillian. For now.

A small blonde woman, who looks nothing like Vik and is often mistaken as the establishment's proprietor, pipes up from behind the bar as the mysterious stranger comes up. She'd heard the bike too, but, she doesn't know shit about 'em... other than the fact that "go fast is fun" , helmet hair is fucking obnoxious, and Vince looks cute on one. Surprise, Vince always looks cute to Gil, though.

"Hay there. What can I getcha?" Vague recollection from the summer opening (and perhaps events since) hit the little blonde lady, but, she's pretty sure they hadn't necessarily been introduced. Vince and the humidity had probably gotten to her little brain and melted anything beyond moon-eyes for wolf-boy.

She leans toward the dark-haired biker where he sits and gives him the briefest once-over paired with a sunbeam-worthy smile that's absolutely genuine.

He lifted his gaze from the table and looked at Gil. Putting on a friendly face, he looked at the voluptuous woman before him and allowed a smile to break across his face "I suppose I can start with just a Roy Rogers or a Shirley Temple. I'll be having some Scotch later, but right now I just want either a Roy Rogers or a Shirley Temple"

He maintained perfect eye contact and didn't even consider eye-f***ing the woman before him. He maintained the friendliness but with the slightest hint of detachment. He lifted a finger as if an idea hit him "Do you serve food here? If so, I'm gonna order a sandwich and fries"

He took a $10 bill from one of his inside pockets and he held it out to her "this $10 is just for you. It's not the tip"

Today is not an important day. There are no grand designs coming to fruition or special occasions to prepare for. Weston has a feel for these sorts of things often, and while he is no diviner he has a good track record with predictions. Today, he felt, would be relatively uneventful. Which was just the way he liked it.

On stage, Weston was doing his usual thing. Today, a guitar accompanied his voice as well as he played some of his own music. To the patrons of the place, an aura of calm and relaxation flowed through the speakers, giving them an excuse to unwind and take a breath. Stress easily leaks away, giving minds and hearts a moment to collect themselves.

The sun will go down, the lights will go out

But even then, I'll be there.

Let the world disappear, I'll always be here.

Just call me again, I'll be there.

His performance lied not only in his music, but also his expressions and movements. While by no means dancing, Weston still moved and animated as he played, giving warm, genuine smiles and the occasional wink to those in the crowd.

After a small set of music, Weston takes a break, sitting on the edge of the stage and drinking water to give his voice a small break. Still, his body language suggests that he is still open to casual conversation.

Caprice and the little Fallen would have been in agreement in that aspect. It was nice to have these softer nights. Nights where nothing out of the ordinary was happening and the world just seemed to flow like a southern child on an inner-tube down a steady river. With the sweetness of the angel’s song and the warmth that the girls poured into this place, it was definitely a place of ease. Hell, even little Pearline was there. The sweetest little doll who liked to be in bed with a facemask and a book/podcast by 9.

The slender man slipped from the back and the VIP room, sporting his usually cold season look. Which was really just a thick turtleneck instead of a black T. At this point though he did have something new. Those once silver bands had been swapped by a set of bone rings. That and of course the anklet to match but that was barely visible most of the time. He held an empty glass and just sort of hung out for a moment as he listened and watching Weston perform for a few before continuing on.

Those pretty blue hues glanced around the main room, resting on all the faces that populated the space as he made his way towards the counter. He’d have to go and say hello to the girls in a bit. As for the little fallen angel? He was still a little unsure of that one but he was never rude, often asking if he needed something but nothing super in depth. Jackson could attest to the ‘drake’ not being the most forwardly welcoming person, so it definitely wasn’t personal. Gil was the sunbeam, and he was the little rain cloud. He was a grumpy little rain cloud, whenever he saw his little sunbeam that stern look never stayed too terribly long.

Caprice slipped back behind the bar with a faint hello, just out of politeness and those eyes softened as he looked at the pretty little creature making drinks. He wouldn’t say much as he went to go and fix himself a drink, not wanting to interrupt Gil while she was working. He did however let his fingers brush at the nape of her back as he slipped behind her.

Mack scrambled through the door, holding it just long enough for his lithe partner to slip inside, before shuffling over to the bar and hunching over the counter. His back was turned to the building front, while a large, balding man wearing only thermal long-johns crashed down the sidewalk outside. He had been waiving a shotgun, and hollering all sorts of colorful hillbilly language.

Once the roar of curse words had become muffled by distance, Mack sniffed casually, ruffled Thor’s flappy ears then made himself comfortable at the bar. He took a nonchalant glance down the length, taking note of the other patrons. The contrast of the idle chatter and soft noise in here, compared to the sound of shotgun blasts in close proximity that he’d just been experiencing, made his ears ring.

His brown eyes lifted to the few filtering behind the counter. The girls he saw in here regularly, and that weird dude with the bare feet…

He brushed some dirt and leaf-bits off his slacks, then cleared his throat and began unbuttoning the sheriff’s department uniform top to reveal some obscure band t-shirt beneath. While he waited to put in an order for some liver-bleaching substance, his attention found the man on the stage.

“Hey!” He called across to Weston. “Can you cover ‘Pretty Fly for a White Guy’?”

He trotted happily beside his parter. He was panting happily with his ears up, but every time he looked up at Mack, his ears would go down signifying his happiness with and adoration for his two-legged partner.


Once they stopped, the K9 deputy would instantly sit. He glanced around the bar getting a feel for each person, taking care to look up at Mack as if checking on him, after which he would go back to scanning the room.

Weston had seen Caprice a few times when he came here to perform, but for whatever reason he had never managed to get a very good grasp of him. He was finding that to be an uncomfortable new problem he had to deal with here. Before when he only had to deal with mortals and those of a more mundane nature, he felt he had a much better understanding of what made a person tick. How to speak to them, which tone should he use, what does the person need to hear at that moment, and how should he say it? He had gotten the hang of it before. Now? Turns out there were others here who were more than what they looked. He figured he'd have to take the plunge at some point and take a chance. He could improvise, that's a skill he has also honed over time.

A skill he will have to practice soon, apparently. As Mack shouts up a request, a few thoughts fill his head. He looks up and around at the equipment available to him, particularly his mobile speaker that he has brought in. The Crow Bar, understandably, didn't have a very robust sound system built in and Weston has had to make due with his own personal equipment. The request for Pretty Fly... as a solo act, it probably wouldn't land very well. Without accompaniment, one part of the song or another was bound to fumble a bit without a more robust mixing system. He looks at Mack, and his eyes catch uniform that he is removing. An officer requesting Pretty Fly...

Heh.

Weston stands up and finishes his glass of water, calling back towards Mack. "I can cover just about any song you can think of, should I have the instruments with me to play it. Sometimes even if I don't, I'll make due. I'd be glad to take a request, but only for an exchange. Normally, I'd just ask people to stick around awhile and tip the bartender well, but while you're waiting to order I'll settle for something I can call you, other than officer."

He decided to lay down. He would lay against Mack panting happily, his titanium-capped tusks could be seen barely poking from behind his lip. Thor had an interesting lufe: before he was donated to the Laurel Hill Springs Sherriff Dept., he was a military working dog that guarded the 160th SOAR compound on Fort Campbell. He had even had a few tours overseas. This war hero served his country and all he requested in return was his Kong or a tennis ball.


This was different for Thor, but he had grown attached to Mack rather quickly. There wasn't much Thor wouldn't do for Mack. The dog trusted him, and they seemed to get to know each other quickly. He would look at Mack and start pawing his leg in an attempt to get his attention.

Gil had been basking in Weston’s pleasant atmosphere between customers, serene and focused. She cocks her head to the side, effortlessly maintaining eye contact with the biker, as she reaches for the offered tenner. “Well, coming right up.”

Her calm collected expression falters only once as Caprice touches her hello… Those cool fingers tease a shiver out of the short blonde and she casts him a silly grin before tearing into the rind of a large pomegranate with her fingers.

The short-stack offers a wave to Mack before effortlessly deconstructing this curious piece of produce. As strategic portions of the membrane are cleared she shakes the plump gem-red arils into a bowl, grabs the pomegranate simple syrup, some luscious cherries, and candied orange to create a juicy play on the Roy Rogers.
“Here we go; Sando and fries will be out shortly. If you need anything, I’m Gil.”

“Hey, Officer…” she calls while breezing by, even as Weston asks for a name. She offers a handful of the red arils, 12 specifically, in her upturned palm to Caprice, wordless. Her smile is cheeky and bright. She simply waits.

Vik is on alert about the sound of shotgun fire outside, but shrugs when Mack and Thor don’t seem necessarily alarmed… hmmm. She watches the exchange between Mack and Weston for a bit, amused, as she returns to making the rounds;
offering Weston one of the warm spiced cocoa maize beverages and setting a fresh pitcher of water near his regular spot. He seems to have settled in here quite nicely, however there are no jokes about divine intervention…

“Hey buddy!” Vik greets officer Thor with a shake and a pat, excusing herself to retrieve his usual. One big dish of fresh water, a lick mat with peanut butter, apples, & carrots… Fondly referred to as “Pup-cuterie.”

Alerted to Officer Thor’s presence, several staff bring him a big comfy cushion from the back. It seems to already have experienced its share of spills so retirement was necessary. What better way to repurpose it?

Vik fully encourages staff to attend to Thor,
As long as he seems interested and Mack approves. However, they’re sure to allow him freedom for his observations.

He took a glance back as he felt her soft skin shift under his cool fingers and of course he gave her a soft chuckle and a grin back in return. While he still wasn’t the biggest on PDA he had definitely come a long way over the years. Sure the booze and Weston’s lovely ability to calm the mind helped a turn, Gil had taken good care to lure the grumpy man out and soften those edges.

That drink of his was made and he took a sip as he moved to get out from behind the bar. Definitely not as good as one of the normal workers but it did send that tingle though his nerves and up his spine that only a strong drink could. But he didn’t work here so he wouldn’t linger long enough to be asked anything.

Caprice didn’t make it to far though, just a couple of strides before he stopped. Like a 6th sense or a little spy telling him to halt his step or warn him of the little lady who was moving after him. Another sip was taken and smirked when he had turned to see his little sun spot holding out her palm to him.

Those long pale fingers moved with his arm to gently lift up her hand just a little as if to inspect the contents. With a lifted brow he seemed to count the seeds for a moment and those lips pulled back as he actually smiled as he lifted his gaze from her hand to those lovely expecting eyes.

His little Persephone~

His back bent and he lifted her hand further, tightening his grip on her small hand just a little. Just enough to keep it still for him as he closed the distance. His lips parted and he happily opened up his mouth to eat the seeds from the palm of her hand. It wouldn’t take him long but he didn’t rush himself as he happily accepted his little ‘gift, leaving a soft kiss against the palm of her hand and her wrist before standing back up.

“Careful. Now you cant get rid of me.” He said softly to her with a soft chuckle. It was a multi-layered inside joke and he was proud of it.

Drawn in by the pawing, Mack bent down to address his partner with love and attention. He cupped the slender face between his hands and flopped Thor’s ears playfully, then kissed his forehead. “You’re a good boy,” Mack affirmed to his buddy. “Good thinkin’, ducking for cover like that. What would I do without you?”

Then, he left Thor in the tender, caring hands of the fawning bar staff and turned his attention to the musician. He moseyed over so he wasn’t shouting across the relaxed bar scene, and offered a hand out to Weston. “I’m happy to make the acquaintance of a fellow artist, my name’s Mack,” the off-duty officer introduced with a charmingly casual, crook grin. He couldn’t resist mentioning that he too did music. “An’ you are?” He prompted. Mack didn’t recognize the man, so he must not be an active criminal.

“Tell ya what, play me the song and I’ll buy you a round?” He offered, good-naturedly but with just a hint of a dare hidden in the crest of his smirk.

As Vik approached, he started wagging his tail. He stood up and did wiggle thinking he was going to get attention. He smelled the overwhelming delicious scent of apples and peanut butter which made him even happier and wiggled more.


He then saw the pup-catering, and he offered his paw to Vik signifying his gratitude. He would lick the hand of the staff member who brought him the cushion. He gave it a few sniffs before climbing onto the cushion and laying down. The deputy K9 kept his head up in order to keep watch.

He takes the hand and gives it a solid shake. "I am Weston, a pleasure." His hand is very soft and warm, and strangely lacking the calloses that one would expect from one who plays the guitar regularly.

With a grin, he gracefully vaults back up onto the stage. "Very well, I'll take you up on that offer then. Welcome to the Crow Bar. Feel free to stay awhile and relax."

He walks over to where he has rested his guitar and slings the strap around his neck before striding over to the microphone stand. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, preparing to start the track. After a few taps on the microphone to make sure it's working and a resonating strum to test the amp, he clears his throat and presses play.

Pretty Fly (For a White Guy) begins playing. Weston had to consider what he was gonna do with this song when he got the request. His gift let him amplify the emotions that can be found in music, but this song was... not one he connected with very strongly. What could he do with this that he would be happy with?

He has an idea. As the lyrics kick in, the room begins to energize and grow light. Embracing irony, Weston fully puts himself into playing, taking it seriously to a comical intent. He embodies the attitude and visage of a full-on rockstar.

So don't debate a player straight
You know he really doesn't get it anyway
Gotta play the field and keep it real
For you, no way, for you, no way
So if you don't rate, just overcompensate
At least that you'll know you can always go on Ricki Lake
The world wants wannabes, ah
Hey, hey, do that brand new thing!

It seems ridiculous, particularly with Weston dressed in a button up shirt and tie like he was working a 9 to 5. But he seems fine with it, comfortable despite the strangeness of it all. That feeling is put through the speakers and those within the bar, letting them embrace that feeling as well. The world is weird. Strange. Silly, even, if you take the time to think about it. Looking back on life, you can't help but laugh that you've made it here to this moment.

This strange sensation is not mind control, those who hear the music still exist within their own faculties and react to these feelings as they would. However, they would still feel that invitation, that suggestion to let everything else disappear for a moment and indulge in those emotions.

(OOC, it is also divine magic, for any of those who would have some sort of resistance or sensitivity to it.)

Satisfied, Vik departs the main room to check on food orders while some of the staff dip for break. She’s curious to see how Weston and Mack get on. Well, honestly, either of them!!! In the back, her sharp cupid’s bow lips purse awkwardly as she scans the only ticket up… the Mysterious Stranger.

“Hmmmmm. Fine. It’s a sandwich.”
“And fries.” The chef laughs as Vik rolls her eyes with embarrassed exasperation.


_
She swallows hard before approaching Seth on the right side. “Hello again. Club and fries?” Maintaining a respectful distance, she effortlessly places his food on the bar without even a sound.
“I’m Vik; You need anything let me know.” One sort of awkward smile later & she departs again; lest he has a request.

Gil makes a small delighted sound while Cap consumes each juicy red aril. Almost on tip-toes while he eats from her upturned palm, she can’t help watching with a giggle. Her cheeks go extra rosy.
A gentle, “Oh nooooooo”, may not seem entirely convincing. And that cheeky smile ever-lasting…

Before he stands too tall, Gil plants a soft kiss on his forehead. Then she eyes the drink. “Would you like me to make that correctly?” Mostly teasing, but always happy to do anything for him.

The kiss on his forehead was happily welcomed. Each little bit of affection from that gentle affection from the little lady was happily accepted. He’d grown rather fond of the gentleness that was softening him all around. Be it the attention or asking for help or even allowing himself to be swayed even a little by that angelic voice, he was getting soft. But looking at that smile before him he couldn’t say it was a bad thing.

Caprice let out a soft chuckle and shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “No it’s fine but thank you. The more you drink the better it tastes.” He jested as he took a sip of it. Though for some reason it was even worse and the look on his face called him a liar. Unintentional but a liar all the same. “No, you’re right.” He handed the cup over to Gil with a playfully defeated sort of look on his face.