[Spike strolls in a few moments after John. He's out of the city, after all, and it takes him a little longer to get places. So when he enters, it's almost painfully familiar the way his eyes have to adjust to the smoke and dark, the way a good dive bar keeps the lights down low and the music just so, just loud enough to hear it, but not so loud you have to raise your voice to talk over it. Like a suggestion of music, really.
He stands there near the door, looking around the place and not initially seeing the person whose picture he'd half scanned earlier.]
Right. Which one of you meat sacks is waiting for someone?
no subject
He stands there near the door, looking around the place and not initially seeing the person whose picture he'd half scanned earlier.]
Right. Which one of you meat sacks is waiting for someone?