"In heaven there is no beer, that's why we drink it here! And when we're gone from here, all our friends will be drinking all our beer! Everybody now!"
The loud obstreperous singing emanating from the bar immediately told Spike that he was in the right place. His suspicions were only confirmed when he heard the loud clinking of beer steins and cursing in other languages that followed it. Only Germans could sing like that, never mind drinking.
He pushed open the doors to the bar, his cigarette burnt nearly down to the filter and dripping ash, having been lit ever since he'd gotten the tip and spent the rest of his time chasing it down. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and flicked the ash onto the floor, ignoring the bartender's cries of protest as he headed to the back of the building, smiling around his cigarette as he put it back in his mouth.
The table sat at the very back of the bar, suffused in shadow along with its occupants, who all laughed and drank without even acknowledging the world around them or the tall, lanky figure coming for one of them.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and blonde, his piercing blue eyes completing the image of what must have been an ideal Hitler Youth back in the day. He sat casually in army clothing, one arm slung around the man next to him, the other resting on the table with his hand on his beer stein.
The man—boy—next to him had light brown hair, one enticing curl springing out from his head, and was almost passed out, his head on the blonde man's shoulder.
The blonde man looked up as Spike approached, his eyes darkening.
"Ludwig," Spike said, "the game's up."
And damn did he give him a run for his money.