Owner	Pose
Cheyenne Brawley	A gust of cool air heralds a pair of men as they shuffle through the door; the first, a young olive-skinned guy with greased hair decked out red, yellow and cerulean attire (go Cyclones!) bearing a heavy leather luggage case on wheels; and the second, a slim man silhouetted in black.      "Thanks for the help Jose," the latter says with a thick Texan drawl as he snatches a wad of cash from his wallet and hands it over.e      Jose receives it, stunned. He pauses, splitting the little stack in half, and makes to hand some back, but the other makes a gesture of refusal with a grin.      "Stay for a drink?" he asks, but Jose shakes his head, one hand sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, "No, I better go, I still have half a shift to do at the airport." The two shake hands, and Jose skips out the door, pumping a fist with glee when he thinks he's out of sight in the driver's seat of his cab.      The fellow who remains lets out a long, slow sigh and ambles over to the bar, each of steps resounding with a cowboy boot clop, dragging his luggage behind him. He claims a seat and looks around for a bartender.
June Moone	June Moone is in a small corner booth, a little bit in shadow. She's wearing a knee length dress and her long brown hair is braided long down her back. A close eye will show her to be not at her best - bags under her eyes, bloodshot, a little tremble to her hand as she takes a sip of what appears to be straight whiskey. She swallows hard and closes her eyes, clenching as she refuses to cough, her slender frame wracked for a moment with her swallow before she opens her eyes again. Those with the senses for such things will find her reeking of something preternatural, even as, deep within, another set of eyes gazes out from behind hers and cackles in June's inner ear.
Jacob Walker	It may be something of a busman's holiday for someone who tends bar to go out drinking, but on the other hand, sometimes you want to go where no one knows your name. June's not the only one with an unseen passenger, though Jake's is sullenly silent for the moment. He enters a little behind Cheyenne, and the combination of accent and boots is enough to make him grin a little. He's only in white dress shirt, somewhat rumpled, and jeans, with well-tended but old work boots. Ambling a little stiffly to the bar, he hitches up to a stool, before giving the Texan an amused side-long glance. "Just into town and this is the first place you head?" he wonders. There's a drawl there, but it's not Texan - something lazy and coastal, the Carolinas, perhaps. It does explain why he's breaking the New Yorker's code of never acknowledging a stranger until you're forced to.
Cheyenne Brawley	"I'll have a Roy Rogers with lots of cherries," says the man in black with a completely straight face as he pauses, confused by the amused response from the bartender. He twists his tattered old ball cap around, bill to the back, trying to be discreet as he takes in June with a fleeting glance, but so as not to be impolite, he rests his attention on Jacob and grins at a fellow southerner in turn. "I don't know my backside from my elbow when it comes to yankee bars," he says with a bit of a shrug. "Taxi driver said this place was a hotspot for 'my kind of people', and I reckoned the feller knew his stuff." He arches his brows and purses his bearded lips to indicate further bewilderment, then offers a rough, sun-weathered hand to be shaken. "Name's Buster," he says with a broad, toothy smile.
June Moone	June Moone can overhear the conversation easily enough, the somewhat mousy young woman setting down her glass. In the mirror above the bar, a figure momentarily moves, green-skinned and wicked eyed, a flicker that might be easy enough to miss or discount. June sees it, of course. She knows who it is. //Oooo, one of them has a rider, just like you. I wonder if it's anyone fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuun?/ Enchantress whispers inside June's mind. "Leave them alone," she says quietly to herself.
Jacob Walker	Oh, my sweet summer child. The muscles of his jaw clench for just an instant, as Jake bites down on a laugh. But there's nothing mocking in his face, as his gaze follows Cheyenne's to June. He does know enough of how New York works to not let his glance linger beyond a moment. "What kind of people that taxi driver meant, I couldn't tell you," Jake allows, cheerfully enough. He takes the offered hand and shakes it; a firm grip, but not the kind meant to make it a contest of strength. "Jake," he says. "I know Texas when I see it - worked around there for a while myself. How'd you end up here?" To the eyes of June and her passenger, there's a shadowy form, dark and indistinct, around the long haired-blonde. The sense of someone else looking about, suspiciously, though Jake's gaze never wavers from Buster.
Cheyenne Brawley	Cheyenne slips the straw from his drink, mostly coke, and gobs a big mouthfull, cherries, stems, ice and all, and starts to chew, relief obvious on his face. He turns to face June and lingers, obviously trying to ascertain who she was talking to. After a few seconds, he swallows and spits a tangled trio of bright red stems into an ashtray before turning back to Jacob. "Must'a meant folks south o' the Mason-Dixon Line; can't say I'm disappointed, Jake," he repeats the name, committed it to memory. "I'm here for school," he adds, oblivious to the unseen interaction between passengers. Making eye contact with the other man, he subtly cocks his head, combined with a slight up-jerk of his chin, to both indicate June and question what her deal is.
June Moone	June Moone ducks her head as she's called attention to herself, tugging on her braid a bit in a nervous habit. She has a large backpack nearby, almost overflowing with books, a battered laptop buried in amongst it all. "Sorry. Didn't mean to disturb you," she says softly, her eyes remaining on the table in front of her. She has an old hospital band on her left wrist, as if she checked out not so very long ago and just forgot to take it off. The word 'MOONE' can be seen on it.
Jacob Walker	The actual bartender here is giving Jake an impatient look, and he orders, rather sheepishly, "Jack and coke, please," To Buster, he says, "Hell, must be luck, then. I just ducked in here on a whim, more or less." "What school?" he goes on, even as he turns his hands over in lieu of a shrug. June, however, gets an equally gentle response, "Nah, you didn't disturb anyone," he says to her. Though that's not entirely true - Jake's passenger is more than a bit perturbed, and the effort of trying to suppress her wordless urges to go check this girl out is enough to have a little line graven between his brows.
Cheyenne Brawley	Interpreting the line graveb on Jacob's brow as concern for June, Cheyenne swivels on his stool to face her again and his expression softens. "You'd be welcome to join us, ma'am - if you'd like." He glances over his shoulder at the other fellow, "Wouldn't she, Jake?" He swivels to his original position, careful to avoid putting the woman on the spot by pointedly awaiting a response, and adds, "Well, I don't rightly know. Still lookin'," he finishes with the least canny grin known to man, and sets to work on chewing another mouth full of ice, coke and cherries.
June Moone	//Yes, wouldn't you like to join them, June? Don't you want to make friends?! I worry about you, June Moone, I'd worry you'd go crazy, if you weren't already. Crazy as a Junebug, Junebug, Junebug, crazy as a Junebug la la la la la// "STOP IT," she says. putting her hands over her ears. THere's a flare of power in the bar and several bottles on the shelves shatter, spilling their contents, and the mirror over the bar cracks, jagged and sharp as June tries to push up from her seat shakily, grasping at her napsack, "I...I'm sorry, I...she...she's...I shouldn't be...around...people," she says.
Jacob Walker	"Of course you're welcome over," Jake insists, before looking back to Buster. Up goes one brow. "What're you looking to study?" he asks, as the bartender sets the Jack and Coke down before him. He takes a judicious sip, and it meets with his satisfaction, because the following mouthful is a good deal larger. His flinch, however, is not entirely from the startlement of glass shattering, as the bartender curses and goes to get a broom and pan. "You got someone givin' you trouble?" he inquires, and now it's almost sotto voce. The bracelet on her wrist has not gone unnoticed. "Still feeling off from that visit?" God knows his hospital stays were ordeals.
Cheyenne Brawley	"Hot damn!" Cheyenne pops off of his stool like a jack-in-the-box and lands, crouched, in a wide stance on the hardwood floors, fists instinctively poised for a fight. He quickly scans the windows, then the walls, then the ceiling, and finds no bullet holes. Standing, slowly, he traces a trajectory from the broken bottles to different spots around the room, and finally takes in Jake's evident lack of concern. Buster takes his cap off and ruffles his wavy hair, eyes wide, mouth set in a prim line. Replacing his hat, bill forward and drawn low over his eyes to shield his blushing cheeks, the man clears his throat and slumps heavily back onto his stool. "Ahem; lookin' to study, uh, metaphysics. So to speak." Almost as afterthought he wheels around and rattles quickly to June, hands splayed in entreating big-arms, "And you don't look like someone who should be alone." He pauses, withholding a thought. "You remind me of someone." He sighs and gestures to an open stool beside him. "Your broken is welcome here." The words sound a little rehearsed, like they have been said many times before, but no less sincere.
June Moone	June Moone puts a hand over her hospital bracelet, covering it up instinctively, "I...something like that," she says to Jacob's question. "I guess everyone has their demons. Mine is just...a little more vocal than most." She smiles softly at Buster and takes the seat, "You're very kind. I appreciate it. BUt it isn't...entirely safe around me. She's...dangerous," she says softly, hugging herself as she hears a cackle in the back of her head.
Jacob Walker	He forgets, some times, that his responses aren't in line with what they're supposed to be. Jake takes another hasty swallow of his drink, adam's apple bobbing. Buster gets slanted a look, now more speculative than amused. "That so?" he wonders. "Well, this is apparently the mecca for it." Swirling the ice in his glass so it chimes softly, he adds, "You a vet?" "How is she dangerous?" The blonde's trying to keep his tone soft, but there's that increasing strain there, blinking as if he's trying to ward off a headache. "Was that her?" He doesn't sound particularly upset by it.
June Moone	June Moone shrugs, "She can do things. Magick. She's a witch. An ancient, powerful one. A hateful one." //Oh, and I always speak so highly of you to others, Junie.// "It's all really complicated and ugly and messy," June says. "Ruined my life. My career. I keep hoping I can find a way to do some good with her...somehow...make it all worthwhile."
Cheyenne Brawley	Grey-green eyes flit to June, then to Jake, and back to June, as wide as ever. He drains the coke from his glass and sets it down a gentle tamp. "Can I trouble you for another, mister?" he asks of the sweeping bartender, when there's a sufficient break in the dialogue. He sniffs and smooths his beard, nervously adjusts the lapel of his suit jacket, smooths down his tie, and finally rests his hands, fingers interlaced, in front of him. Without a word, he watches Jake's face, listening intently.
Jacob Walker	They can both of them see any semblance of real cool slowly eroding from Jake's manner. From the care with which he's holding that drink, to the way he's having trouble looking away from June. "That sounds like a hell of a story," Tone's gone a little flat. "You don't have any way to get rid of her?" The Wolf has very strong opinions on how they can help this girl and her witch. "Help" by the expedient of prying that spirit out of the unfortunate June and devouring it. He looks for a moment as if he'd ask another question, but clearly bites down on it, turning to give Cheyenne a rather helpless glance.
June Moone	June Moone shakes her head, "Not so far. I've been reading up a lot, on magick and legends and witches. I've learned a lot. BUt she knows more. So much more," she says. She gives a soft shiver, hugging herself as she feels the worry in Jake's voice and feels both of the men looking at her, "Look, I should...I should go..." she says, pushing away from the bar, "I shouldn't get you involved. You seem like nice guys, it wouldn't...she might..." she says, and then turns and rushes towards the door.
June Moone	But, in her wake, she left behind her hospital bracelet, torn from the wrist...at least, if they ever come across her again, they'll know her name...