Dark and seedy was just the sort of place that one would expect to find a half demon private eye, and what would you know, that suited his style perfectly. With the way his life went, even a saint would need a drink, and the demonic detective certainly didn't fit that bill. Maybe he drank a bit too much, but he wasn't really worried. He was a harmless, if somewhat ridiculous, drunk, after all.
And right now, he needed the alcohol. His powers were gone and even his beloved guns, Ebony and Ivory, were rendered useless. And not just because he'd lost the magic he used to provide himself with infinite ammunition. The weapons were broken, now so much useless metal and wood until he could fix them. Between that and the unfamiliar difficulty in swinging his formerly demonic but now just scary looking broadsword, he felt as weak and helpless as a newborn. It was even bad enough for him to tolerate the smoke hanging over the bar, though the foul smell of tobacco was enough to make him cough.
After the awkward fit was over, he scanned the bar with interest. His eyes lingered on the Renamon working the bar, a pretty little thing despite the fur that would probably put most humans off. But who was the man who turned into a scaled and spined demon man to judge for a few inhuman qualities?
A wink accompanied his return flirting as he got his first drink of the evening before the poker game caught his attention. His relationship with Lady Luck was a rocky one and he should have learned long ago that gambling was a waste of time, but the siren song of the cards called to him. It was a different world, right? Maybe his luck had changed for the better. Or at least, that was what he told himself as he took a spot in the next round.
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And right now, he needed the alcohol. His powers were gone and even his beloved guns, Ebony and Ivory, were rendered useless. And not just because he'd lost the magic he used to provide himself with infinite ammunition. The weapons were broken, now so much useless metal and wood until he could fix them. Between that and the unfamiliar difficulty in swinging his formerly demonic but now just scary looking broadsword, he felt as weak and helpless as a newborn. It was even bad enough for him to tolerate the smoke hanging over the bar, though the foul smell of tobacco was enough to make him cough.
After the awkward fit was over, he scanned the bar with interest. His eyes lingered on the Renamon working the bar, a pretty little thing despite the fur that would probably put most humans off. But who was the man who turned into a scaled and spined demon man to judge for a few inhuman qualities?
A wink accompanied his return flirting as he got his first drink of the evening before the poker game caught his attention. His relationship with Lady Luck was a rocky one and he should have learned long ago that gambling was a waste of time, but the siren song of the cards called to him. It was a different world, right? Maybe his luck had changed for the better. Or at least, that was what he told himself as he took a spot in the next round.