(Okay time to get this thing started. Sorry about the late delay but bleah.)<br/><br/>*Every bar has one, that one lone drinker. He is always there, sitting alone at the bar. Drinking, never speaking much to those that work in the establishment. There is a wide variety of both predators and prey working in the place. As well as assorted furs and scales that are off the menu. One of them being the bartender an anthro otter named Butch. A rather large fellow both in height and in mass. Though one is wise to know that the mass of flesh is not fat rather it is pure muscle. All is relatively quiet in the bar at the moment. It has just opened up the night crowd hasn't arrived yet. But the bar already has its long time customer. The dark mewtwo, he sits alone at the end of the bar. Remaining at the same stool he always sits on, arms resting on the bar he glares at the glass in front of him. Just sitting there, staring at nothing really except the glass in his hand.<br/><br/>Around him he hears the voices of familiar faces. The workers that make this place home, of course people can never be sure who is a predator and who is prey here. Each of them keeps it secret, of course there is always the problem of permanent death. But that is fixed with a stamp to the hand. Each person that comes in gets it. Its a mystical symbol that guarantees that the body will be reformed once. To get the stamp again the newly reformed have to get back to the front door. Something that is easier said than done. However the dark mewtwo doesn't have the stamp, they gave up years ago.<br/><br/>Every bar has one, the lone drunk who never speaks. Who never seems to speak up or notice the goings on. Then again one can never tell if something will change that. The night is still young.*