The night was lively in the hall, Friday being one of Sticks & Stakes\' busiest days. There was hardly a person in the room without a smoke in hand, and even less were without a bottle of some sort of alcoholic beverage. That was just the way things rolled here, and nobody seemed to be very objective about it. Very few by the bible Chrisitians dared to walk near this place, let alone enter the double doors. It was a rare and safe haven for those who wanted to add a few dozen rowdy intoxicated trouble makers to their list of friends.
Buddy wasn\'t wasted- yet. He was halfway in between, the state in which you weren\'t quite drunk but definitely not sober. But was he ever really \'clean\'? The best conclusion he could come to was that at least being a stinkin\' alcoholic was better than a good-for-nothing-crackhead. With his flask around his neck and the lid easily snapping on and off, Buddy knew he\'d be crossing the line sooner or later. Maybe not within the hour, but at least by the end of the night depending on how often he was interupted.
The man was sitting in the far corner of the room, stuffed in a tiny space where his face was barely visible behind thick clouds of cigarette fumes. He\'d smoked through at least half a pack by now, the stench of the room was in the flavor of his \'Kool Light\' branded cancer-sticks. His original intentions had been to play a little pool, win some money and maybe hit the road until he felt drowsy, but things didn\'t seem to be going the way he\'d planned. This place was packed tonight, and the pool table was being dominated by some young kids who likely never thought about things such as the meaning of life. Not that it meant much to Buddy, as long as he got the chance to play. Watching the game intently, but without prying too much into matters, Buddy struck a grin when a tall, lanky player hit a ball that jumped off the table and halfway across the room.
"Yew seem sharp as a mawsh\'d potayta, boy." He boasted, taking a bit of a chuckle afterward. The Lanky fellow, who did so appear nothing more than a boy, took a pause and drifted towards the area of the older gentleman, with somewhat of a sour expression.
"You talkin\' to me?" The boy asked, a slick city-boy accent that Buddy knew all to well.
"Uh-hawh." Buddy responded, there being a long break between the Lanky lad\'s response. Tension was high in the air and he knew this testosterone pumped kid was going to want to take a couple of punches in. It wasn\'t something he wanted to do, but if the kid asked for it....
"That mean you want a fight?" Lanky-boy asked, though his tone was nothing short of friendly. Buddy took a thoughtful glance, looking the ceiling as he puffed some more smoke from his face, maybe hoping that the teen might choke on it and vanish off. But he knew better than that by now. This kid wouldn\'t back down unless he put on the right show.
"Maself? Naw, pears yew be thaw one pickin a brawl." That stalled Mr. \'Friendly\'. For a moment it appeared that Buddy was going to have to stage a demonstrative smacking to get his message across- the leery-eyed boy\'s gaze was confrontational and just...mean. But all of it was avoided when the group of kids that Lanky had came with gestured to him. His head turned and he gave one last venom-filled look at Buddy before turning around and joining his fellow peers.
All in all, it had been a slight breeze on the winds of trouble. The Supernatural knew what danger was, and that kid wasn\'t it. The only \'bad\' that had come of it was the attention that it had drawn, and the number of faces that were staring at him now. It probably wasn\'t the encounter that had taken so many aback- things like that happened loads in a place like this. Really, it was the Texan accent that took up so much interest. He heard some snickers, and he sent a squint in the general direction of the noise, but didn\'t do much more than that. If they wanted to talk about his hometown, they could do it straight up. He had no problem fending for himself.