The One Night Stand || Open

[Kat]

Errol hadn't slept well, but she chalked it up to an overindulgence in caffeine and a fanfic about some of her favorite marvel characters. Nothing productive ever happened while browsing the internet, but it kept her entertained painlessly enough outside her overly complicated cameo as the bartender of the One Night Stand. She wasn't surprised to wander in around supper time, and find the place empty, so she ate her take-out in relative silence before scooting around with a broom and dust pan to tidy the tavern up. Nestled behind the ancient walls of the establishment, Errol couldn't make out much of the city sounds, though it was probably for the best, as the ONS wasn't known to share the location of anything worth while. This side of Valesport was little more than a shanty town for bohemians and hobos; though similar attire made the two groups awkwardly interchangeable.

She spent more time texting than she did sweeping, but when the deed was done, Errol perched atop one of the ratty bar stools behind the counter and rummaged through her bag for her tablet. Netflix and chill certainly had more appeal to it when it wasn't binge watching Seinfeld for the third time, but Errol worked best in her comfort zone, and that zone happened to include George Costanza. Everyone had their idols, didn't they?

The only interesting thing to occur was a strange number trying to reach the pale woman, though it ended up going straight to voicemail, as Errol had no patience for phone calls and less courage when it came to unlisted numbers. Vampires, Shifters, Demons - whatever. She could handle all sorts of paranormal bullshit and never break a sweat. Answering a number she didn't recognize? Hell no. Not now, not when hell froze over. Never. They could fuck off for all she cared, just so long as they perceived her lack of an answer as an answer unto itself. A general 'I know you're not important, so I won't bother acknowledging you' sort of dodge. Kind of how she was dodging the real world by running this old booze shack, though the One Night Stand had the decency to be spacious, meaning she could hide away behind rune inscribed doors without thinking twice about who might barge in.

Voicemail was acting up because the message the caller left was nothing but static, but again, Errol didn't care much to investigate further. After all, George was having shrinkage issues and that took precedence over what was most likely a wrong number.