One of the world's dark little corners, where the lost huddle near highways and outcasts find solace, Thursday's was not the kind of place you went to, Thursday's was the kind of place you wound up.  A stone's throw away from rock bottom, and a hop, skip and jump from the wrong side of the tracks, this was a place of hardened hearts, and scared souls, who's loyal patronage were the only things that kept the otherwise grim establishment with its lights on.  Gashes and buckles gave the dark wood paneling on the walls character in substitution of plasma screens, a reflection, no doubt, of its endurance, much like those who occupied it's seats.  No crowds came here to cheer on the town's favorite team and the menu was as modest as the simple worn stools that lined the bar.  Nothing impressive, but tried and true.<br/><br/>Decades of struggling to survive the human condition made the air thick with smoke; while one burning ember of a cigarette was snubbed out, another somewhere across the way was being lit in a steady cycle.  To those not used to it, the place could be suffocating, but it was were some thrived.  Or at least existed unbothered.  Time reflected on the faces here, and it had been anything but friendly to most.  Thursday's was a place for wolves, black sheep and snakes, devout to cold beer, and warm meals, but in more recent months, a particular face.  Somewhere in the background The Dead South crooned from a jukebox that worked only when the machine felt like it, and sometimes after a swift jab if you were lucky.  Conversation didn't rise above the Brewery Sessions either as conversation was minimal if there was any at all.  Save for the slender angel that weaved gracefully between solitary guests.<br/><br/>"Come on, Winsle," a delicate hand came to slap against a steel toed boot, "Would you put your feet on your mama's dinner table?"<br/><br/>"No, but I wouldn't be drinkin' at my mama's neither," the man scoffed, giving the long neck in his hand a slight shimmy as he drew his legs back and put them on the floor.<br/><br/>"Well if ya wanna keep drinkin', I advise you keep your damn boots off the table, yeah?"  Sebastienne's expression shifted, scorn melting away from her rich indigo eyes as a sly smirk tucked itself into her cheek.  "Ya want another?"<br/><br/>"Sure do," Winsle returned her grin.  "Promise I won't be puttin' my feet on no more of the furniture."<br/><br/>"Better not be, or next time I'll be breakin' a bottle over your head instead of servin' you one."<br/><br/>"Duly noted, angel."<br/><br/>Casting an endearing smile over her shoulder, the petite blonde walked away from the burly man now sitting properly at his table for one.  Sebastienne, with her fair complexion and pale blonde hair, looked fragile in comparison to her rough surroundings considering that on most occasions her company consisted of men armored in motorcycle leathers and chains, and women, who, for the right price, would be whatever you wanted them to be.  It was a tough crowd on good nights, a mad house on bad ones, but even still, Sebastienne felt there was no better place suited for her.  It was places like these that needed her light most, and it was places like these that she always wound up.<br/><br/>This Holy girl hadn't lost all of her senses, she knew tattered and tired souls when she saw them, and she could see the cumbersome weight of life flash in the glaze of their eyes even when they were warmed by smiles. She knew exactly where she was, but she was convinced it was exactly where she needed to be.  Sebastienne offered forgiveness under a gaze of understanding in a world that was viciously unforgiving, and it was this that kept her safe among the wretched and sinful that she served.  She did not judge them, no matter the nefarious ways circumstance had forced them to live, and her unwavering acceptance was graciously returned.  She may have been stripped of her wings, but Sebastienne had not been stripped of her purpose.  This was merely a test, she could not have been truly forsaken, and therefore her fight was not over.<br/><br/>Behind the bar, the clock ticked close to midnight, and the evening's guests that usually passed their time in the dingy dive bar were likely already there.  The kitchen would be closing, and for the next two hours the atmosphere would be about one thing and one thing only.  Drowning the memories of days pasted that had led them here in the first place.  Plucking the Marlboro Red that dangled between his middle and forefinger, Sebastienne stole herself a drag from Winsle's cigarette as she returned to replace his drained bottle with a full one.  "Kitchen's closing," she informed him before a thin trail of smoke curled out from her lips.  "You can't live off cigarettes and booze, Imma put an order in for ya."  She handed him back his smoke and turned once more to walk away.<br/><br/>"I'm alright, angel, you don't gotta do that."<br/><br/>"I'm doing it anyway," Sebastienne called over her shoulder with a whimsically flippant wave of her hand.  She took care of them, and in return the creatures that most of society liked to forget about took care of her.  Winsle would have taken a bullet for the deceptively youthful girl, in fact most of them would have.