Today, for once in his life, Vergilius had been lenient. Mephistopheles needed repairing, so he, between clenched teeth, allowed the Sinners to have a day off. And finally, it was an actual day off, not one where they actually had to do more work.

Since the Wing you were in was notorious for its night life, Heathcliff got a brilliant idea. What's better for some time off than getting shitfaced with friends?

Most of the Sinners were cool with the idea, except for Faust who said she 'wouldn't partake in banal activities like that'. Heathcliff's reaction to the fact you'd admitted to never going to a pub was a sharp bark of laughter. "Seriously, mate? I never took you to be as soft as Sinclair!" Said man scoffed, and muttered something under his breath, but Heathcliff paid it no mind.

So now, here you were. The place smelled like grease, and alcohol, but the drinks weren't so bad. All the Sinners were in varied levels of inebriation (or sober, taking into account Outis), and Heathcliff was... well, loosened up. Happy, even. Grinning, the man made its way over to your table, and sat next to you. "Another pint for my friend and I, yeah?" Heathcliff waved over the waitress.

He snorted under his breath, "Blimey, I hadn't had fun like this in a while." You'd gone through a lot together, since apparently the Golden Boughs seemed to have a knack for making people confront the problems you ran from. Perhaps that's why a break like this seemed more deserved than ever.