Uriel's eyes were, for the most part, unfocused. There weren't a lot of people sitting at the bar and those that were already had their drinks. He'd seen some interesting things tonight- a woman feeling up another woman and a fairly attractive male couple. One of them looked taller, older and intimidating while the other looked to be just a shy cowboy. Nonetheless, they looked like a good couple.

Uriel was feeling sicker than he usually did, drained of most of his energy and put in this hot and disgusting bar atmosphere. He wasn't the usual charming bartender the girls hit on. Not to himself, anyway. He was feeling sort of snappy, irritated and very tired. Still, he did his job.

His hair was an interesting blend of colors. Blue, red, and black colors scattered across his long velvet curtain of hair. His pink eyes seemed to glow eerily in one light or shine in another. Nobody could tell they were unfocused.

He wore all leather and made sure his top covered the scars on his neck. His gloves (worn to cover his claws) were also leather.

He leaned against the bar counter, seeming to be looking out at the dance floor.

Bors didn't quite notice. He'd already demolished a suitcase of beer before going out to drink. He was depressed as usual plain and simple. He didn't drive though, he'd walked. The werebear wasn't so careless as to drive after amore than two drinks. He could never live with himself if he caused an accident.

The night was young however, and he had not even managed to get a buzz from the beer. He wouldn't drink more at home. It seemed to upset his new roommate that he did so. He'd left rather than deal with the girl. Hopefully while he was out there would be no more pyrokenetic phenomena either.

The monstrous looking fellow walked up to the bar and took a seat. at 6 foot 7 I'm sure the hairy lunk was hard to miss. His curly black beard and hair looked more like fur than hair too. He's in rumpled greasy jeans and a very large dickies workshirt. It looks like it may have been grey once under the grease and grime. He's just plain grungy.

He rumbled his request, it's just how his voice is. "Can I get a double shot of Tequila?"

Bors should've intimidated Uriel. He would've, too, if he hadn't had so many customers that looked like him. Whatever the case, he didn't intimidate him, just startled him out of his daze.

The beginning of a migraine pounded in his ears with every words someone said and every beat of the song. It didn't help his hearing was very sensitive to begin with.

He swallowed thickly. "Yeah, sure."

Uriel had the drink ready and on the counter in a couple minutes.

Money for the drinks he served was always nice.

Bors laid down a fifty and knocked the shot back. "Just bring me another every now and again, and tell me when you need more money." he rumbled still. Most people do find him intimidating until they pick up on how pitiful and miserable he is. Though he has rare outburts of temperment Bors really can be a cry baby.

He hated the bar scene really, He always seemed to get into some sort of trouble. Drinking at home with Alex there though, was just not an option. Bors was feeling particularly shitty today too. He wanted to drink himself stupid and numb or just run off into the woods and hide forever. He couldn't even say why, lately he's just felt like crap. The alcohol at least numbs the feelings he can't explain or get away from.

"Sure." He answered with a nod, leaning up against the bar counter again, pressing his stomach to it so that the pain would be dulled a little.

"Mind if I ask why so much alcohol? You don't look like you're having a fun night."

Curiosity never hurt anyone... right?

Right?

"Can't drink at home is all. Just can't take the looks and unspoken words any more when I do. Feels like my head will explode if I stop though. So here I am in a bar. Better than sitting out on some corner with a bottle wrapped up in plain brown paper I figure. If I do that I might get picked up. If I get too fucked up here at least I can ask someone to call a cab." He rumbled frowning. Bors has never had fun in his life. I wonder if the dismal stoic thing would even know how to act. He's always been so serious, he doesn't know how to be anything but serious.

His sad brown eyes showed he was nothing but serious. He gave a hurrumph as he sat. "That music could really wreck a good buzz though." he comments almost absently.

"I see. Fucked if you do, fucked if you don't, eh? Sucks."

Uriel went back to preparing another drink for the man and set it down on the counter. Same thing he'd ordered before.

"Here. S'on me. Don't tell anyone, though."

His lips went up into a slight half-smile. "No kidding."

"Sorta feels like my head got stuck in the towtruck winch." Bors said of the music while nodding about the drink. He knocked that one back too and his eyes looked a bit glassy now, hard liquer hits so much quicker than beer.

"Don't it grate on your nerves?" he asked in his rumbley voice.

"Of course. Always. Sensitive hearing sucks for this sort of job." He shrugged.

"If you keep drinking like that you're gonna relive that experience," he commented in reply to his first comment.

"I ain't never really been stuck in the winch, just what I imagine it would feel like. And the suck part about drinkng all the time, it always takes more and more." he rumbles in quiet thunder, trying to keep his voice down.

"I assumed that's what you meant." Uriel idly shrugged a shoulder, pressing a claw just above his covered belly button. He looked down for a moment.

"Another, I'm guessing?" He didn't have any other customers.

The wearbear nodded, "Mmmm another yes. I can still think straight." he said still trying to keep his rumbling on the more muted side. "So how come you aren't so busy? You seem as awright as the others." Bors asked, by others he means the other bartenders.

"'Kay." He busied himself with getting the drink once more and occasionally glanced to Bors. "I don't know. Just slow right now, I guess. Thank God for that, too."

He finished his work and again slid the drink over to the werebear.

"Thank God? Uhm you don't work for tips then?" The were bear confuses easily, the fact that he's consumed a lot of alcohol adds to his confusion. "Nevermind, I talk too much when I get like this ignore me." he rumbled sullenly.

"I do. Work for tips, that is. But I can't stand this job. I suck at it." He winced at a particularly loud and obnoxious beat of music as the club song changed.

A couple came up to the bar just then, who had just come from the dance floor. Sweaty girls. He gave a small smile and nodded as they ordered. His pink eyes were still concentrated, for the most part, on Bors. He felt bad for the man.

He came back with the drinks and the women slid down the counter away from Bors. After they'd paid, of course.

"I don't know how I ended up here, really." He was more the quiet, artsy type. He was a painter and tatoo artist, after all.

I do it for the drugs, he'd wanted to say, but it sounded so wrong.

"How does anyone wind up anywhere, I wanted to be a librarian....." Bors rumbles. "Try to picture it." he says very softly and he shakes his head.

Do try, (to picture it) this gigantic greasy disheveled mountain of a rumbling man a librarian. I think it ought to be easy to see part of why it didn't happen.