The gentleman sat on a bar stool holding a glass of dark liquor, swirling it around and listening to the gentle clinking of the ice cubes within. All around him were patrons of varying ages and gender. At first glance the place would seem nothing more than any other bar one would find in a large city the likes of Boston or Los Angeles, but there was one particular detail that made this location more than what it would appear...the moans. Not moans of pleasure as someone might expect to hear, but of anguish instead. If one watched closely enough they would notice that when a person brought their glass of liquor or beer to their lips the liquid would suddenly vanish leaving the imbiber unsatisfied. Once the glass was set down upon the bar it would magically refill, taunting the owner to try yet again to quench their thirst. That was because this wasn't a bar in Boston, nor Los Angeles, it was located on the third circle of hell known as Gluttony.<br/><br/>As the man sat watching the patrons try and fail over and over to drink from glasses and bottles that would never fulfill their desire he smiled and took a deep swallow from his own glass. The whiskey burned sweetly as it traveled down his throat and he barely stifled a chuckle as one of the other patrons stared at him longingly. "Great taste today," he said to the sullen barfly as tears rolled down their face, "Try the Jack Daniels, it's especially nice."<br/><br/>"Spencer, why do you come here to tease my souls?" The burly man behind the bar looked like he should be the bouncer rather than the bartender, especially considering he wore a black tank top that hugged his muscular chest tightly. However it wasn't his size or choice of clothing that was his most interesting feature. No, that honor belonged to the small pair of horns that sprouted forth from his forehead, no more than two inches in length.<br/><br/>Spencer turned to face the demon who had addressed him and cocked a delicately trimmed eyebrow. "Tell me Horace, where does it say in the rule book that I have to stay up in Lust?" He ran a well-manicured hand through his short raven-colored locks. "As much as I enjoy the debauchery upstairs I just love coming down here to see a master at his craft. Besides, where else is a guy supposed to get a good drink in Hell?"<br/><br/>The demonic barkeep grinned exposing a mouthful of pointed fangs and laughed. "Alright, just don't come running to me when management gets pissed off at you for shirking your duties. There are tons of souls up there that are in need of punishment and I know you are one of the best at their particular brand of it."<br/><br/>"Flattery will get you everywhere my friend, but another drink will get you even farther." He shook his empty glass and Horace came over and poured another shot of Jack over the ice left within. Just as Spencer was about to take another sip he stopped and placed his hand up to his ear.<br/><br/>"Being called back upstairs eh? I told you they would be missing you soon." Horace took the drink and passed it along to another soul who greedily took it and tried to swallow it down only to be disappointed as before.<br/><br/>Spencer stood up from the stool and smoothed out the lapels on his grey suit coat and adjusted the collar to the black button-down shirt he wore beneath it. He stepped towards the doorway that led as an exit from this Circle of Hell to the rest and grabbed the skull-tipped cane that he had left by the door. "Oh, I'm going upstairs alright," he spoke with an almost gleeful tone, "I'm going all the way upstairs." Before Horace could say anything more he opened the door and stepped into the shadows beyond.