Disclaimer: I don't any of the TNBC characters, sigh and I don't own Tim Burton either...but I will...EVENTUALLY! Anyway, plz send me any ideas for what should happen if u have any!
Sullivan sat quietly, sipping his Pumpkin Beer in a tavern on the outskirts of Halloween Town, also known as Pumkins Hallow. It was an extrememly slow day for the tavern. Few people came in and out, Sullivan sat there quietly all day, drowning his sorrows and pains. It was Halloween, so everyone in town was busy with celebrating and decorating the entire town, and no one really had anytime to waste in the tavern.
The tavern ahd been quiet, except for the usually clinking of dirty glasses in the sink, and the blind Vampire pianist in the corner who played spooky tunes all day for tips. Sullivan chugged down the last of his Pumpkin Beer, and slammed the cup down on the table while smacking his lips and wiping them on his purple coat sleeve.
"One more," Sullivan barked at the bartender.
"Sorry sir, but it's closing time," the bartender politely refused.
"But you don't close until 10 on Fridays," Sullivan insisted.
"But on Halloween we close up early," the bartender impatiently persisted. " We close at 8 for the Halloween award ceremony."
" I don't care," Sullivan demanded. " I want want more BLASTED drink!"
"Sir, I can't do that," the bartender harshly replied, taking Sullivans' glass and placing it tenderly in the sink.
"I wasn't done with that," Sullivan grumbled. "I want another drink."
"Sir, it's 10 after eight, we're closed, and you are clearly drunk off your rocker," the bartender hastily commented, while wiping down the counter one last time and grabbing his coat. "It's time for you to leave."
By this point the blind pianist had collected his tips and left, so the only people left in the building were Sullivan and the bartender.
The bartender began to head toward the door, hastily trying to get Sullivan out of his shop so that he could lock up, but as he reached the edge of the counter, a tall skeleton-thin frame loomed over the short bartender. Sullivan reached into the breast pocket of his coat. The bartender tried to make a run for the door, when BANG, the short old bartender lay on the floor dead, in a puddle of crimson blood.
Sullivan let an evil smirk play across his skeleton face, while something in his eye sockets gave the glint of a madman.
"I told him I wanted another drink," he said, as he stepped over the bartender, trying to avoid the crimson puddle, and left two gold coins lying in the puddle next to the man, "He should have listened."
To be Continued