Everyone was having the time of their lives, or un-lives. But one man sat on the corner of the bar, tucked back into the corner of the room. He made the room seem dark and mysterious. He looked dark and mysterious.

He mocked all the dancing people, a mortal dancing un-knowingly with an immortal, an innocent underage girl trying to walk the wild side, mistakenly dancing with a hungry vampire. Such foolishness, such ignorance.

Degla wore a pair of loose, but not baggy, black pants and a nice white button up shirt with a triangle collar and the top several buttons undone to show his tanned chest. A thin cord wrapped around his throat. He was thin in a sleek sort of way. His hair was just at the length that it could mostly be pulled back, longish strands hanging in his eyes. His hair could make blood red seem dull. His eyes, possibly the most intriguing and most dangerous part of him were a stunning blue and they seemed to have no end. It was as if he could stare straight through you, they had no emotion, they were strangly empty, reflecting the inside of his mind. They flatly stated, to anyone really looking for the statement, that his mind was far past being considered completely fucked.

He’d come to drink. He’d decided to get hammered. But he doubted, even as he sat here, watching the recklessness, that he would be able too. Alcohol didn’t seem to put him in a stupper. Maybe because his mind was already in it’s own sort of permenat drunkenness. At any rate, he planned to attempt to get waisted. Ronnie was tucked safely into the appartment, and glancing at his watch, 9: 14, he was sure that in an hour she would be asleep.

With his empty eyes he watched a drunk stumble past, presumably to sit. Which he did, or fall really into a seat, without spilling his drink through the stumble. But the moment he was seated, several drops spilled from the cup to stain his shirt. He grinned and Degla only looked at, or through (which ever way one would choose to see it) the stumbling drunk that had landed a seat near to him in his dark corner. The intoxicated idiot grinned triumphantly. Now that was a fine example of how Degla wanted to spend the evening, but he couldn't seem to ever reach that level of intoxication. It was like his damned blood would not obsorbed the drinks.

"Your rather proud of yourself I see." He commented flatly in a pitch that would not be heard easily over the music. His tone of voice was almost like his eyes. Emotionless...or just plain careless. "Well done." Empty.

He wore, on his body concealed beneath his clothing entirely, seven blades, pressed nearly flat to his body by custom made holsters of sorts.

The demon was drunk so what was new? Wasn't he always striving towards the state of drunken numb? He was not yet blitzed however, the night was young. He made his way through the throngs of partying rowdies that noramlly crowded Dark at this hour. He was carrying two drinks deftly inspite of his innebriation. Both were bourons, in tall glasses.

He had on threadbare jeans, A pale turquoise bowling shirt half unbottoned and of coarse his weather beaten duster. The sandals he wore made a soft slap with each of his steps, but only those with accute hearing could hear it with the music. His pewter hiar was particularly disheveled tonight. One of the waiters had been quite flirty with him earlier. Something about his dimpled grin.

Someone jostled Cheddar as he walked and he simply lifted an eyebrow in passing then slurped one of his drinks before any could spill from the jostling.

He approached on of the less occupied tables where only two men sat. There were no seats left at the bar. "May I?" He asked eyeing a chair.

His own alcohol was rum and coke. You tell a waitress to give you what she'd have and you get something soft. Not that it highly mattered. Degla highly doubted that had he drunk a glass of pure rum he would have walked away drunk, though he truely wanted to.

May I?

His empty, haunted gaze swung upward from the drunken man to the new one that had approached. He guestured to the chair opposit the drunken wreck and diagonal to himself. One seat left.

"Help yourself," still, the voice was empty. His empty gaze rushed over the other.

The demon nodded out of politeness more than sincerity and sat. He looked at the wreck and then regarded the other's empty gaze with his black eyes. "Thank you." he said quietly in his low inhuman voice. Of coarse when he is drunk Cheddar forgets to control the fact that his voice can uninhibit people and so suddenly the drunk is eyeing Cheddar up. The demon smirked and sat.

What a strange lot of drinking companions this would make. If he got blitzed enough, as he intended to it would hardly matter.

Degla gazed on this newer of the pair with interest, or bordom or emptiness, whichever the demon might interpet the look. His eyes remained blank and empty, toneless and emotionless, as if he were staring straight through the stranger and to the other side. Perhapes he was. His mind was a vortex of possibilities and practicalities which were not practical at all.

The voice had caused a chill in Degla's body, somewhere deep within, burried and hidden, locked away and forgotten. And with that chill came the interest and suspicion. But he said nothing. He leaned back in the chair, crossed an ankle over the opposite knee, rested his elbows on the armrests, and put his fingertips togather, pressing them to his lips and staring at (or through) the other.

Cheddar finished one drink and then the other. It didn't take him long. He waved down a waiter, thankfully not the one who had been all over him already this evening, it had been fun, but not worth a second detour to the demon. He ordered two more drinks. Then he sat back and closed his eyes while he waited. He was totally unperturbed by the gaze through him.

Degla finished a beer and then ordered another from the waitress that had brought the other his beer. The drunk ordered another as well. But by the time that the drinks came, the drunk had slumped sideways against Degla's shoulder, and Degla merely remained in the position he'd been in, watching the other.

When the drunk slumped over, his blue eyes turned to the corners to look brefily at him, and then the empty gaze returned to the other. His beer came and he took hold of it and took a long drink before holding it in both hands. His fifth, possibly sixth tonight and he was not buzzed. Frustrated, interested, and not buzzed.

Cheddar's drinks came and he took his time sipping this time, he wasn't close to trashed yet, but he was maintaining his near perpetual state of buzz. He let his eyes remain closed through all of this. He was aware any how. The sound of soft snoring came to him from the drunk.

"Friend of yours?" He asked in that same unnatural voice. Some people just want talk to him because of it. Some insist on talking to him because of it. He's been told it's everything from arrousing to frightening, that it causes chills, goosebumps, and is quite stimulating. Cheddar supposes that all are possible

In Degla's case, as mentioned before, the voice caused him chills. Like a stimulation or getting out of a hot shower. Only his chill happened from the inside out rather then on the surface and raising goosebumps. His eyes never left the other as he spoke, as he himself took another drink.

"No," came the empty reply. Lucky for the drunk he wasn't drooling on Degla's shirt. That would have been bad. Soemthing under the drunks head was causeing the shirt to crease slightly under the weigth and Degla reached over, tugged the shirt sleeve straight, and returned his hand to the glass. One of the seven knifes he had on his body happened to be on his upper arm. "I've never met the man in my life."

The demon laughed, opened his eyes, and stood up. He moved to the drunk. And very slowly moved him so he was passed out on the table instead of the other. "Yes much more flattering on the table than on you." the demon said.

He went back to his seat and resumed drinking, watching the bar throguh lazy half lidded eyes as he did so. The dancing was always interesting, mostly because Cheddar didn't know how.

Degla knew how, and didn't do it often. In fact, the last time must have been seven years ago with his sister. Sister, now Ronnie was a dancer, in ballet and a few others currently. He watched the other, still unsure if he would call him a man or not, remove the drunk from his arm. He himself would have simply pushed the man to the floor when he felt he was ready to leave.

"Thank you," his eyes had never left the place where the demon had been sitting.

there was an interesting diversity of creatures mingling among the mortals this evening, welcome to the food chain. Some humans really were so oblivious, cheddar, had he ever been so inclined could have wrought all sorts of mischief and anguish. Cheddar however has no interest in the usual demon causes, he was exiled, why continue to live that way for no reason.

The other was still staring through him, maybe at him. To cheddar it hardly mattered, what mattered was that one of his glasses was still full.

"What are you?"

Simply from nowhere. His voice hadn't changed, his tone hadn't changed, and his eyes were still in place. He lifted the glass and finished it quickly, set it on the edge of the table and folded his fingers, waiting for another waitress to near them so he could once again flag for another drink.

"Why should I tell?" Asked that voice, though he sounded amused, in fact a slight grin pursed his lips. He let his eyes drift till the focused on the other man sitting at the table. Why should he tell? He can think of as many reasons to keep quiet as he can to answer.

"Because I asked." Yes, in Degla's mind, that is all there is to it. I asked, you tell. You ask, I'll tell. Unless it concerned his sister of course. Finally he flagged a waitress, told her he wanted another, all of this without ever looking away from the other. "I will tell you what I am if you're even mildly interested." He spoke low this time, his voice considerably quieter.

"Serioulsy." the demon chuckled. "I'm a demon." He doesn't volunteer what kind though. That isn't something he typically volunteers even to those he trusts. "Now I believe it is your turn." Cheddar said.

Degla nodded upon being told that he was a demon, and then nodded again when he was told it was his turn. The waitress came back and he kept silent. He took his drink without a word and she left. His eyes had never left the demon still. When he was certin that the waitress was out of earshot and not attempting to ease drop (not as if it mattered) he took a drink.

"I'm a human." Well that was lame. But it had gotten him what he wanted and he'd kept his deal. He took another drink.

"Oh my favorite flavor." The demon answered with a snort. He finished his drink. What an irritating thing this one was. Were his powers to curse not long ago removed he might have been tempted. Instead of dwelling on that, he simply rose and went to a space that had opened at the bar. He needed more drink anyway.

Well....at least Degla had given him a truthful answer. He knew about magic, but that was it. He had absolutly no power that he was aware of. His poor sister, however, claimed she could hear voices. She was growing into her power in a way, becoming telepathic. It was a worry of his because any telepath who'd ever been in his mind had gone crazy, now his sister had a power that she neither understood nor knew how to control.

He watched the demon and his empty gaze never left his back. He didn't move.