<div style="background-color:#353535; border:1px solid black; margin:10px 10px; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px;"><div style="text-align: justify;">"Of course, come on in," was all Charlie could reply, perplexed as she was by the sudden appearance of Library-Levis. By now, she was fairly certain that she <span style="font-style: italic">hadn't</span> asked her to come by. She mutely shut the door behind the woman, still processing. "Please, make yourself at home," she continued vaguely with a gesture towards the dark grey couch, as she meandered into the kitchen to fetch another wine glass.<br/><br/>"I'm really sorry, darlin'," the waitress said honestly. Rose wine was poured and a full glass handed to the other woman. "I'm afraid I only have the one bed, but you can have the couch if you need it? Who kicked you out? Was it a boyfriend?" She added with a disapproving glance over the crystalline edge at the general hopelessness of men. Never mind the fact that Charlie was pretty sure Levis had never had sex, much less a boyfriend.<br/><br/>A clap of thunder could be heard in the distance. Charlie folded her legs up under her and grabbed the pink fleece blanket that had been thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch. Through much flipping and <span style="font-style: italic">where the fuck are the ends</span>, it was successfully distributed to cover her lower body, as well as leave enough room at the other end of the couch for Levis to crawl under the blanket if she wanted to. Charlie doubted it. The other woman was decidedly dull in her coloring, and much too dignified for pink blankets. And yet, she seemed a little out of it. Every now and then, Charlie thought she caught the librarian looking at something above her head, but she was afraid to ask. Maybe her imaginary boyfriend was just really tall, and Levis was trying to imagine him in Charlie's place. Honestly, she had no idea what was going on.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: black;background:black;"/></div><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Rude</span> was the only word that ran through Vivienne's mind as the man - well, boy - known as Oliver barely looked at her as he introduced himself. Honestly, she was by far the most noteworthy thing in this place, you'd think he'd pay a little more attention. Alas, ominous groans and creaking sounds from within the bar drew him back towards it - as well as Lazaahn and a couple of other demons. A brief panic crossed her before it was replaced by renewed resolve. He would <span style="font-style: italic">not</span> get away, and <span style="font-style: italic">she</span> would claim him, or someone would pay. Realistically, if Vivienne wasn't the one to get him to sign away his soul, <span style="font-style: italic">she</span> would be the one to pay, but she chose to overlook that in the moment. Thankfully, the crowd had begun to somewhat thin, and so she only had to spear the feet of three unfortunate souls to catch up to the mortal. She managed to do so just in time to witness the most cringe-worthy, awkward scene she had had the displeasure of  seeing in a long time. Lazaahn being 'nice' was like a car crash - no matter how horrific, it was impossible to look away.<br/><br/>And then, out of nowhere, he decided to message her. Via thought, too, so it wasn't as if she could ignore him (which she regularly did ever since he had found out what SnapChat was. She didn't use it herself, but that didn't stop him from taking screenshots of himself with crude drawings and writing on and then texting them to her the old fashioned way). Her pretty mouth curled in disgust, as if she had spotted a particularly horrible outfit on someone.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Don't be desperate, Matt, it suits you just about as well as that goatee of yours,</span> she thought in response as she sashayed towards them. The smile had returned to her face, but it was much more businesslike than friendly now.<br/><br/>"Yes, after you," she continued Oliver's thought out loud, as she carefully stepped over the blonde woman. She would have loved nothing more than to stomp her heel through her hand, but the tips of them were already red from her other victims, and she didn't want to ruin her shoes. Especially not with Oliver here. "And we'd love to talk to you about this, but people who should be on the run <span style="font-style: italic">really</span> shouldn't be talking about where they plan to go out in the open." She arched a perfectly plucked brow as if to underline the common sense of her words, and soon after adopted a slightly milder expression. "Perhaps a cup of coffee somewhere slightly cleaner would be a welcome suggestion?"</div></div>