fandomtownies | The Devil's Nest, Thursday Evening

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The Devil's Nest, Thursday Evening

Peter found he liked this whole bar tending job of Derek's better than the teaching. Not enough to do it more than once, mind. But still better than teaching with that sniveling little peon that picked a pony to possess.

If he was able to leave the town and not lose control over Derek's body, he would have been long gone by now.

But que sera, sera. He'd just have to entertain himself until then. On the plus side for anyone who might have been looking for a drink, Peter knew what he was doing.

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Where there was a werewolf wearing a disturbingly deep v-neck.

Johnny sauntered in, completely unconcerned about how dinged up the body he was wearing already was. He gave Derek a friendly smile -- then saw the v-neck and frowned.

"Aw, don't tell me you're that beatnik asshole."

That's right, Peter. Beatnik.

"Found yourself some new skin, did we?" Peter replied smoothly.

"It was just lying around, not doing anything," Johnny said.

Or, you know, it was running a diner. Tomato, tomato.

Selfishly running a diner while they were all dead and bodyless. Clearly they had more need for those bodies.

"Nice hair."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "Nice jaw. Haven't figured out shaving, yet?"

"My nephew has apparently given up on grooming."

So. Much. Body hair.

Johnny snickered. "You're possessing your nephew? Isn't that, like, incest?"

Because accidentally getting shoved into a perfect stranger was a much better way of going about things.

Peter just had to stare at him for that. Because rude.

Please. Johnny hadn't even begun to get rude.

"So you gonna take my drink order or what?"

He hadn't had alcohol in so long.

Why were the serial killers always so rude? Why?

"Here I thought you were just going to keep babbling all night."

Not all serial killers! Just look at Hannibal! But Johnny definitely was, yes. It was part and parcel with the whole "complete lack of empathy" thing.

He scowled, then winced faintly when the movement reopened Eliot's split lip. He'd forgotten how fragile living bodies could be.

Heh, well, no, that wasn't true. He'd forgotten how fragile they were even when he was in them.

"Hey. Don't make me make you 41."

"You could try," Peter replied dryly. He leaned against the bar, arms crossed over Derek's chest.

"Yeah," Johnny said with a grin, slipping the large kitchen knife he'd taken from Luke's from his back pocket. "I could."

Somewhere buried under Johnny's consciousness, Eliot noted the really poor knife-handling form and settled back, somewhat satisfied. Hey, if Johnny got Eliot's ass kicked again, maybe he'd be less likely to try to kill any more teenage girls.

"Oh no," Peter said, mostly looking bored. "Not a knife."

He snarled suddenly, teeth going sharp and eyes red.

If Johnny had any sense at all, he'd back down at that.

"What are you gonna do, nibble on me?"

Yep, he had zero sense. Even with Eliot yelling at him not to get him turned into a werewolf.

Peter made a disgusted face. "Like you deserve that," he replied, reaching over the bar to plush Johnny up by his shirt collar.

Johnny yanked back, tearing Eliot's shirt, and took a swing at Peter's jaw.

It had a lot of power behind it! And even some form! If Derek were human, it would probably suck to get hit by it. Ah, the wonders of muscle memory.

Sometime after this, Derek and Eliot would have to have an awkward drink over this.

But for now, Peter was rolling his eyes before leaping over the bar to pin Johnny against the floor with a clawed, too stron hand.

Eliot really wished he could control his body.

He is going to KILL you, moron.

"Been there," Johnny gritted, sneer-smiling into Peter's face, not really getting this whole 'thinking versus talking out loud' thing. "Done that."

Oh, sure, he'd picked up on that modern idiom.

Of course he did!

Peter sneered down at him, letting claws dig into Johnny's chest just enough for little spots of red to appear on the fabric of his shirt. "No wonder you died. You don't have any survival instinct."

"Nah," Johnny said. "Just killer instincts."

Eliot, on the other hand, had survival instincts in spades. It was what gave him the burst of strength just now to wrench control back from his ghost hitchhiker. He grimaced as he suddenly became aware of the full force of his aching body -- Johnny kept getting them thrown into things -- and stared up at Peter, gritting his teeth.

"I'll leave," he hissed. "Just let me get him out of here."

Peter smiled at that, patting Eliot on his cheek before backing up a step to lounge against the bar. "Good boy."

Oh, sure, Peter. Piss them off some more.

Eliot glared at him, then scrabbled to his feet. He looked at the knife discarded on the floor. "Get rid of that for me," he said, then staggered for the door.

Johnny was not being quiet. Eliot needed to get them somewhere without other people, and fast.

Where you could probably get your ghostly boogie on.

Where MORE of the undead might lurk.

Look at me remembering for a change.

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The Devil's Nest, Thursday Evening

The Bar

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The Dance floor/Lounge

The VIP Area

OOC