Lucien finished chopping the last of the wood that was available to him. He breathed heavily, as he had let his anger get the best of him again. Huge gashes were in the tree stump before him, and he shook his head as he looked at the destruction around him. It wasn't much to brag about; pieces of wood were launched several feet from the stump, and the tree stump looked like it had almost had enough of it's share of Lucien's anger. He quickly cleaned his mess up, putting the firewood in one separate pile, and embedding the axe in the stump with one last swing. He then picked up his keys, and decided to head to the bar. He powered up his soupy old truck, and drove off to his destination.<br/><br/>It was late afternoon, and as usual, the bar had it's typical activity; not a lot of people to brag about, but still managing to bustle about. He walked in, and the activity wasn't interrupted. Some looked at him apprehensively, others exchanged knowing glances, as his boots clambered on the wooden floor. He walked up to the bar, and the bartender let show a smile. "Welcome back, Lucien. What'll it be?" He sat down on one of the barstools, leaning forward, letting his weight go onto his left elbow, hand up. He didn't even bear the bartender a glance. "The bourbon, 1867. No ice." The bartender nodded to this very moody reply. He grabbed a glass, and pulled down the bottle from the very top. It was very aged, and the appearance was noticeable as the bartender cracked it open, and poured the nectar into the shot glass. The bartender then sighed, shipping the glass down the bar in one fluid moment, over to Lucien. "That time of the moon again, eh, Lucien?" Lucien glared at the bartender with a deathly look. The bartender's eyes briefly widened, then he nodded with a guilty look, knowing that he had done wrong. "My apologies." Lucien shook his head, knowing that the bartender was right; after all, he did know who Lucien really was. He quickly shipped the glass into his mouth, letting the amber-colored firewater enter his veins. He shook with response; the 1867 always got his attention, and put him on his toes. "We'll be having another meeting at the warehouse tonight, Warren. You do know... right?" The bartender walked up, not looking at Lucien as he wiped out a glass. He spoke in a hushed tone, but easily enough to hear by someone else. "I knew it was about time that those creatures had something planned. What is it this time?" he asked, looking at Lucien meaningfully, who did not exchange the glance. "I don't know, but the silver nitrate lamps need to be replaced. They're getting bolder again, and it's been awhile since we visited the Howling Halls." The bartender's face lit up with fear, knowing what he meant. "You mean... their leaders. We haven't paid tribute." Lucien's face turned into that of hatred and disgust. "Tribute, Schmibute. I could kill them if I wanted to. But something tells me that something else might happen, from the outside world." He took another sip, which the bartender just finished pouring for him. "Whatever the case, Warren. They need to be kept in check." Warren nodded in agreement. "Do you want refreshments present?" Lucien nodded. "We need to keep things on a lighter note. If Marcus wishes to come, especially. That guy always keeps my men on edge. Pah..." Lucien shook his head. Warren knew all too well why. "That guy always shows up uninvited, going on about how it's as much his business as everyone elses." Lucien looked up at him. "Marcus is right, in that matter. In a sense, he's just like me." Warren stayed silent, just staring at Lucien knowingly. Lucien looked away. "In any sense of the matter, it is important, but bring some decent stuff for the boys. Got it?" Warren nodded, handing him a Guinness. Lucien smirked, cracking it open, and leaning over to his other in order to drink his beer.