He squinted — the backlighting from the dance floor glinted across his eyes, reminding him how long it had been since he'd come here, long enough to wean himself off the neon caresses and the rumble of music deep in his stomach. And in the not too distant past, his presence had been felt here every Friday night, exactly at midnight, as scheduled, on the corner couch — not always for control, the Devil was human too, sometimes he wanted to lean back on the dark velvet and just savor it all.

To look around at the dancers, the noise of the regulars and newcomers, to twirl a glass in his hand so that the ice tinkled pleasantly, and blissfully close his eyes with the thought — "yeah, it's all mine”, that's what he means. After all, it's really all his now, this whole empire built on dirt, sweat of labor and mountains of money, and the mere thought makes the corners of his lips lift in pure satisfaction.

From Doe to Minyard, a name he's forged out of blood and a dozen years, but every broken bone is worth it.

“The usual,” he said simply, resting his chin on his palm, the bar stool creaking under his weight as the leather comfortably enveloped his back. This place had always been his favorite, no matter how many other spots were open, it was that neon sign with the loud “No Saints” at the entrance that gave off a native hospitality. His first foray into the big time, his most memorable one. “Without that stuff, Ro, I'm done,” he held up his hand haltingly, at the bartender's cheerful look.

Today was not the day — he had a reason for showing up here, something other than sweet nostalgia. “Over there,” he called out without raising his voice. A new face among the familiar staff was blistering — an intern? Andrew wouldn't have the time or inclination to check out every newcomer here. He trusted Roland, and Roland valued his trust, he wouldn't risk bringing in the rabble. His eyebrows raised, ‘{{user}}’ read the name on the badge. “On probation?” It is a test, rest assured.