( For two and a half years, the Roadhouse has taken up the same spot in the Horizon. Always open, always welcoming, never too crowded but often with at least a handful of folks circulating through it — be it for drinking, for the music, for shooting pool or playing darts, or for the wealth of hunting-related information pinned to the wall that serves as their communal intel board.
It feels a little emptier now than it has in years.
Him and Jo used to alternate most days, and tag-team a few times a week, so at least one of them made an appearance to man the bar in the evenings. To restock imaginary liquor that didn't need manually restocking. To wipe down tables that could be magicked clean, but were instead painstakingly hand-scrubbed. To serve anybody who didn't seem to know how to serve themselves.
Now, Dean's the only one behind the bar. The jukebox still plays quietly. He still wipes down the glasses himself. He'll still greet anyone who happens in, but it's all with a slightly more somber air. Outside, it's grey and overcast, occasionally sprinkling rain. Welcome in; don't mind the mood, he'll make up for it as soon as there's company to perform for. )
ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴏᴀᴅʜᴏᴜsᴇ (ᴏᴘᴇɴ)
It feels a little emptier now than it has in years.
Him and Jo used to alternate most days, and tag-team a few times a week, so at least one of them made an appearance to man the bar in the evenings. To restock imaginary liquor that didn't need manually restocking. To wipe down tables that could be magicked clean, but were instead painstakingly hand-scrubbed. To serve anybody who didn't seem to know how to serve themselves.
Now, Dean's the only one behind the bar. The jukebox still plays quietly. He still wipes down the glasses himself. He'll still greet anyone who happens in, but it's all with a slightly more somber air. Outside, it's grey and overcast, occasionally sprinkling rain. Welcome in; don't mind the mood, he'll make up for it as soon as there's company to perform for. )