Welcome To The Club

It had taken a lot, and I mean a lot for Ollie to hand over the reigns to a barback for the night and let them run the show. He knew he couldn't continue being the only one to tend bar, but no one he had was as.. controlling.. of a bartender. They couldn't keep order. Everyone knew that if you acted up in Ollie's bar, you wouldn't exist by morning. His feeding cycle was very obvious once his chest and stomach started caving back in (and for a wendigo, he did an awful good job at controlling his hunger- even if it was constant and fucking annoying) and his black work button downs started clinging to the vacuumed skin where his organs should be and once were.

To avoid his no doubt frustration at how the guy handled Outlaw while Ollie wasn't in charge, the man left. He went to a different place with alcohol- even though he lacked a liver, and therefore could only get white girl wasted.

This bar, however, reminded him of the McDonalds Play Pit of bars.

Too much... everything. At least it had drinks, though, and no doubt some dubious company. Ollie wasn't picky about who he ate, but he tried not to eat the good people unless they were the obnoxious goody-goody remind-the-teacher-about-the-homework kind of good person.

He sidled up, all 5'4 of him, and took a seat at the bar next to a woman with a rather large bottle of scotch. Now wendigos can only be killed by fire, but throw some single malt into a bonfire and Ollie might just think about jumping after it.

"Gonna share that bottle, love?" he asked. Ollie's voice was a generally normal volume, he wasn't making an effort to yell above the music, but somehow that just cut through the sounds in the club. He guessed it was part of the more demonic spirit part of him. Wendigos were dominantly forest or mountain dwelling spirits, and the howling of the wind was often attributed to them, that slicing tone that can be heard over everything. Maybe the howling Manta Carlos storms were him getting really pissed at the neighbor's TV being on max volume at 11pm. Go to bed, Cheryl!! "I need it to stomach the couple almost shaggin' in your corner over there."

"It's fine. Othello Sampson. I own the other bar, Outlaw. I've probably been mentioned in passing." He nodded and sat, taking hold of the bottle. His fingertips made an odd clink in coming in contact with the glass. It was still muffled, but it sounded almost like he had less flesh on his fingers where it should be- like the bones were closer to the surface at the tips. This was probably the case, actually due to his secondary gift.

He poured a heavy few fingers into the glass before taking a sip. "That's dandy, I can't even get drunk. No liver." He shrugged. "Miss it, though." Ollie was a very happy drunk. A very high-pitched-laughter kind of guy. It was the one time people could actually approach him and not be careful about it. Even his brothers liked drunk Othello.

Ollie's eyes flashed white and he smirked as she threw out guesses. "Very close. Then again, seeing as my kind are normally American Algonquins and not lanky Englishmen from Sussex, not even my fam believed me when I told them." He took a sip and swirled the liquid in the glass before setting it down, the glass making contact with the wood of the bar sounding suspicously like his fingertips did hitting the glass before. "Wendigo. Not that subtle about it, really."

Ollie exhaled all of his breath, taking the hand not on the glass and pressing his shirt in from where it was hanging off of his body. His hand seemed to go farther and farther into his stomach area before he found contact with what was probably the front of his spine. Almost Ollie's entire hand had disappeared inside him, which was far far less sexy than some might say it sounded. He took it back, adjusting his shirt and letting himself breath normally again, the hollow filling up mostly but not entirely. He'd eaten recently so it wasn't as dire as usual. "Might as well be god of the forest though yeah? No others like me that I've seen except the guy at the butcher shop.. and let's be real, he's a bit of a nonce." He smirked, rolling his eyes.

"Gotta say, a lot of people I recognize are looking over here like they aren't happy we seem to suddenly be meeting. Can you think of any reason?"

The rukus didn't bother Ollie in the least, he simply watched, an expression of boredom on his- if he said so himself- handsome face. He was used to running a tight shift, and a few threats of murder weren't off his plate at all. He poured another glass.

"Oh they should be at least a little afraid. We seem like we could have run of the town if we wanted to." He said it so.. matter of factly. As if there was no doubt to Ollie that the only thing holding him back from ruling everything was the fact that.. gosh.. he was just so lazy. That required effort and planning and being responsible for other people and jesus... that just cut into his me time yaknow? He raised an eyebrow. "Dangerous people fraternizing leads to dangerous alliances leads to bad things for those peoples enemies."

He laughed at her accusation that he was out for a 5 star meal. At this place? No thanks. He generally picked his poison at his own place, where he knew the poisons. "I find the burn comforting." he said, downing the last of his glass for a show of good measure. "Reminds me of my childhood." Well that was. ... comforting. Nah, Ollie had a good childhood. He had a loving family with loving brothers and a very wealthy legacy and a very sprawling hunt club to live in- so what the fuck happened to him? No one knows.

"Also nah, not tonight. I'm letting a barback run my bar, but I'm a bit of a control freak so I decided to nip out so I didn't have to watch him crash it into the ground for a night" He laughed, thinking of the poor asshole. Then again, his customers knew better. Ollie always had a watchful eye on Outlaw. "I like to think of myself as a real English Captain America. I only eat the bad people. Well, and I'll take any guy that looks like Bucky Barnes."

"Oh I know. I find it difficult to feel affection for people outside of the ones I have to." he shrugged. Affection for his family was hard-wired. It just.. happened. He was defensive to an extreme over his brothers and his parents, but after that it was sort of.. meh. He assumed it was a sort of rich-people-stick-together sort of thing, an evolutionary advantage type of deal. the rest of the Sampsons were good people, but Ollie? God, he would have been murdered 'accidentally' on a hunting trip years ago.

He gave a nod to her arm, as if to say 'oh, but of course, I had never noticed and would never have noticed' before giving a vague motion with his hand. "Stronger than scotch? I'll have you know my lungs work fine if you have anything smokable." he said with a smirk and a snort, glass already back on his lips as his whitened eyes gave a slight roll. "Whatever sick joke native american curses are, they can't give up smoking things I guess. Though you'd think the drinking would have stayed as well."