Phil sat down at a table near the door. He figured if nothing else he could watch people come and go. Likely the place would fill up as it got later though, and perhaps someone would sit with him. Phil hasn't exactly mastered strategies for meeting new people. It might come as a surprise to learn about the chatty hairstylist, but he can be a bit shy.

A waiter came over and carded him before taking his drink order. It was early enough that only a few regulars were in here and no one was working the door yet. The sun hadn't even set yet.

Phil had come here straight from work for a few drinks, maybe even some company. Sometimes simply spying on people got old and dangerous. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose as he sat and tried not to fidget. Fidgetting created wrinkles in one's clothing after all. He didn't want to wrinkle his nice clothes, pressed khakis and a plaid Tommy shirt. He was glad when his drink came, it would help him losen up.

Jesse was carded before he even ordered. The moment he stepped through the door, the waiter had carded him. He looks so young, so frail, but the waiter walked away, and it prooves that either this kid has a good supplier for fake IDs or he really is nineteen or older. The later is true.

Phil's lean, Jesse is half starved, maybe more then half. He's tall to boot. Which only makes him look even thinner then he already is. There isn't anything to him. His clothing are second rate, bought at a salvation army store no doubt. His pants are two sizes too big and only stay up with the help of the belt. He's wearing a plain blue tee shirt under a ratty, dark blue button up shirt with long sleeves and a material far too hot for the weather. His hair, hard to believe, is natural, black and white, hanging near his chin and not pushed back. His eyes are blue, and old, and dieing.

He looks like a sad puppy.

He folded into a chair near the door and crossed his arms over his chest, settling his gaze on the door. He's not ordering a drink. He can't hold bread down, let alone liquor. He's come in because with such a slow day at work, his boss kicked him out so he'd stop "mopeing around the shop". He can't go home yet, not with fresh cuts on his arms. Engle would kill him. Besides, since he's moved out of his place and into the one Viv is letting him rent, he avoids going 'home'. He's afraid a 'freak' will show up looking for Viv. He's afraid of the demon she mentioned, or anything magic for that matter.

Not that he'd admit it outloud.

"Is is just me, or are you not having a good time?" Phil asked quietly, it might not be the best way to strike up a conversation but it was true. He looked the younger guy over, at least he looked younger. Phil was aware looks could be decieving though. The other fellow looked literally like he might be on the verge of wasting away.

While Jesse looks like sad puppy, Phil must look like an over excited one. He was in spite of himself still fidgeting, though only one leg. His right leg seemed to convulse almost with a nervous twitching bounce.

"Life isn't about having a good time," he muttered back, his blue gaze sweeping towards the man. Man, he hoped it was a man. Homosexual was easy to understand, transexual he could deal with, cross dressers sure he could deal with that too. But God hope this is a man not a demon or a freak.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Sorry for being morbid? Angsty? He's a teenager, surely you'll understand. His voice is rather deep, that strong sound that comes after puberty, before your vocals decide they don't like you anymore.

Well Phil isn't exactly a man part of the time he is in fact a rat, but why would he tell people. Really who wants their hair styled by a rat?

"Well you needn't be sorry I made an observation, life is more than being unhappy as much as it isn't only about havign a good time. Why so glum?" he asked. HE isn't fidgetting now, his mind has kicked into hairdresser chit chat mode. So he may seem a bit bubbly, but not over eager now.

The jackhammer in Jesse's leg began when Phil's stopped. His left leg pounding up and down, fast, hard. Drugy? No. He reached into his pocket and switched off the CD player since it was useless when in a bar with music and speaking to someone. He stuffed his other hand into the other pocket.

"Life sucks?" It was almost a question. Why so Glum? Because life sucks maybe? Just a guess. "My boss cut my hours short," he said after a moment. Not that it's healthy to work 15 hours a day.

"You really like your job or something? I like when I get off early." Phil said. He noticed the jackhammer effect seemed to have left him and migrated to the other. " And why exactly does life suck? Maybe I can help?' His offer is sincere, Mostly he likes people, unless they happen to have cupboards filled with Decon and rat traps everywhere.

He twirls a finger in his bangs. It might look girly for some men to do, somehow it just made Phil look childish, he can't seem to break the habit though.

"I hate my job. It's the only one I can get." Brutally honest, you'll come to realize. And very direct. Jesse doesn't beat around the bush and very rarely lies to anyone. "I just need the money."

He watched the twirl of the finger in the hair and his leg stopped moving. Breifly. Then started again, his long, bony fingers tapping out the rhythem of the base in the music on the table top where he'd sat down.

"I doubt you can help."

"Well I'm a good listener. Or maybe I could help you come up with a way to take your mind off of things. Do you want a drink, or are you a tea totaler?" Phil asked. He really wasn't sure what to make of one who came into a bar to brood but not drink. He supposed ti was a possibility the chap was merely killing time here. It was early enough there wasn't a cover charge to get in.

"You want we could go someplace else?" He offered. He really had no way to help with money troubles the other was right. He got by on what he made and saved a little for a rainy day, but that was all.

Not that Jesse would take charity. He even pays Viv to stay in an appartment that she never had to pay for anyways.

"You'd go somewhere with someone you don't know?" His eyes narrowed just a little bit suspiciously. or are you trying to get someone who doesn't know you to go with you? You see, Jesse's grown more suspicious of the world then ever he has been. "What if I'm armed? That could be dangerous."

Lets mention Jesse is armed, with an assissted pocket knife. It's how the fresh cuts got on his arms that he's hiding under the shirt.

"well most people are in this day and age." Phil says. "But seriously, the bar setting doesn't seem to suit you. We can walk someplace unless beat up up old motor cycles don't bother you." he says. Phil himself carries a razor in his shoe and mace on his keys.

"I have to meet people someway besides work, I've only lived here ten months." he pointed out. He didn't mention the first six had been spent getting a job, bike, and apartment all squared away, or that until he had, he'd survived by foraging as a rat while leaving his few precious belongings locked in a locker at the bus station.

"I've been here almost a year." And I have no friends. Well, he has a Guardian Angel now, and Viv might be a friend, but he isn't sure what to make of her yet. It's sad that the only two people (can Engle be called a person?) he could maybe consider a friend are both 'freaks.' And Vivienne seems the shady sort of 'freak' too.

"The bar scene is fine." Frown. Remember what I said about Jesse being brutally honest? "No. It's not. But it's the only place I know....someone won't follow me into. And right now, I don't need that someone following me. He'll murder me." Not literally. Come on, he's a teen. He still uses exageration to the maximum.

While he may be exagerating Phil can't know that.

"Are you in some sort of trouble?" he inquired of the other, suddenly all seriousness. "Are you trying to get away from someone?" He's just become very concerned with a stranger's safety. He'd care less if the stranger happened to be female though.

Jesse raised black eyebrows at him. Then shook his head slowly. "nnno. I mean yeah someones following me. But I'm not trying to get rid of him. I just........don't want him following me today. I did...soemthing to myself that he wouldn't be happy about because he protects me." How was he suposed to explain that?

I have a gaurdian angel and he's going to be pissed that I cut myself and didn't eat again?

He hated all of this. All of the magic shit. He hated trying to talk to people that he didn't know were magic or not, how to explain it without sounding crazy? Jesse had enough issues without sounding crazy too...didn't he?

Phil doesn't have any idea if the younger man has issues. He is begining to suspect it might be the case though.

"Oh, sort of like an over-protective parent it sounds." he says. "Well if you're always being monitored or what have you, how do you ever have any fun?"

"sort of," Jesse replied. Because that's about what Engle was, his parent. His gaurdian, but they sort of took care of eachother. What did he do for fun? "I don't have fun." It sounded almost flatline. And it was true. Jesse was always far too busy working to have fun.

"You?" Topic change. Or at least shift the attintion to the other.

"For fun? Oh let's see here, there is drinking, shocking people, mototr cycles, nude sunbathing on the roof of my apartment, arguing with the talking parrots in the pet store, the amusement park, shopping, and did I mention, drinking?" Phil says. He's not joking.

Jesse's black eyebrows had risen upward, arching to mindle with his black and white hair as he gazed evenly at the other. "Arguing with parrots?" He blinked twice, shook his head. "I can't drink. And if I could, I'm not sure I would anyways." He doesn't mean his age prevents him from drinking, since obviously if he's old enough to be in here, he's old enough to drink. It's his stomach that won't let him. He's so thin that his stomach had begun to eat at it's self, but he swallowed enough bread, crackers, soup, and water too keep from starving. Alcohol does not sit well with him.

"Mark my words, not just any one can argue with a parrot. " Phil said. "How about pool then, do you play pool? There are two pool tables in the very back." Phil figures if the other can't drink maybe they can do something besides just sit around doing nothing.

That nearly got a smile but instead he got a humorus shake of the head and black hair shaken out of his eyes.

Jesse stood up at the offer. Tall and thin. Yes, he's that thin, but it's probably the height that makes you notice this more then you would on a shorter person. "Sure. I'm not good." At pool that is. Or anything.

"It's a bar not a pol tournement, I'm sure it won't be too aweful, compared to those who play piss drunk. Never know, you might get good at it. Besides, it's something to do and I have a pocket full of change." Phil said leading the way towards the pool tables. Luckily one of them was unoccupied, since it was still early in the night.

When Jesse said 'I'm not good' what he'd meant was 'I've not played in two years'. He's not always been this young, moppy boy with a sorrowful attitude and morbid nature. When he was younger he'd spent more time at the swimming pool. And the pool had a pool table and a few other games tucked away under a cannopy.

He slouched and followed like an obediant child. "I could wait until you piss drunk then," he offered. Was that a stab at humor?

If it wasn't Phil laughed anyhow. "Well you won't have a long wait." He said still laughing softly. He put the change into the table. The bals came out and he set up the rack and put the cue ball in place.

He walked over to the back wall to pick a cue to play with while flagging down one of the waitresses.