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[center][color=#146E74]Interacting with: [@Ambra][/color][/center]

MacCready’s was an Irish bar with a Scottish name, owned by a Russian, and managed by an American. [url=https://images-ext-1.discordapp.net/external/szKMhZGYRg8q2zbeup_iLXYE7pbM0qi3IICJzcPxqyY/https/s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/93/71/13/9371130477c788bfbf21c5e4d0431da5.jpg?width=747&height=558]The bar[/url] was a dive, essentially, but by the simple matter of keeping it clean, it was considered ironically shitty. It was either the shittiest good bar ever, or the best shitty bar ever. Between the graffiti scratched into the tables and chairs and barstools, the visibly smoky air, and the painfully pretentious music that Thomas liked to play, MacCready’s was...unique. Only two things kept the regulars coming back. The relatively cheap booze (especially when compared to the bars near the college) and the [i]Darkwell Tribune[/i]-voted best bartender in Darkwell, two years running. 

Or, so he liked to think. 

It was probably the cheap booze. 

It was quiet tonight. It was quiet most nights, really, but tonight was [i]especially[/i] slow. If he didn’t have the news running on the tv above the bar, he might’ve wondered why. The sound was turned off, and [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZN6SaPKbyxc]music[/url] was playing, but he could read the subtitles.

[b]”Tonight, a third victim was found seemingly-mauled. The woman, whose name has not been released, has been checked into a hospital. Police on the scene refused to comment on her condition. This follows two deaths, and conflicting reports of what the attackers might’ve looked like.”[/b]

[i]People are scared…[/i]

Thomas winced, turning away from the screen. He heard Garrett, one of his regulars, order another glass of rum. He nodded, distractedly, occasionally glancing at the TV screen as he filled the glass. He only snapped out of his reprieve when he handed the drink to him. 

[color=#146E74]”You alright, man?”[/color] Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew his regulars. He knew that Garrett didn’t look well. [color=#146e74]”You look like hammered shit. No offense.”[/color] He knew that he’d looked about as bad, if not worse, not too long ago. Worst fever he’d had in ages. Enough to make him miss work, which didn't happen very often. He stayed in his apartment, ate saltine crackers, and watched movies. For the first time in a while, he didn't worry about the bar. It would've been nice if it hadn't been for the dangerously high fever.