FORFEIT
WOW: glass. No good ever comes from hanging around with Demons – even if you are one.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
xxxxx
Standing at the bar, Demon Dean glanced around furtively, nervously eyeing the approaching barkeep.
"What'll it be?" The grizzled man grunted.
"Ahem, yeah … I'll have two banana daiquiris please – in long-stemmed glasses. With glace cherries to garnish, and your smallest umbrellas – preferably pink ones …"
He squirmed miserably.
"… and, uh, if you have sparklers too …?"
There was a brief silence before the barkeep spoke.
"Are you on crack?"
Demon Dean turned slowly to glare at the black-suited figure sitting behind him. Crowley's unctuous smirk seemed even more smug than usual.
He turned back to the baffled barkeep.
"Lost a bet," he sighed.
xxxxx
end