Perhaps in a cliche manner for such an evening, the skies above this strange little bar in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere were overcast with thick, black, rumbling clouds, rain thundering into the ground in sheets, and lightning a constant companion to the air. Perhaps it was just coincidental, or perhaps it was the world reacting to the select people gathering in this place that night. Maybe a bit of both- But it made for a nice, gloomy air to the meeting that was to take place.
The tiny bar in which the group was to meet was just as cliche as the storm raging outside- A simple, small structure of wood and brick, a flickering neon sign above the door marking it as 'Ricky's'- More commonly known as the only building for several dozen miles in any direction. Inside, there seemed to be, well, nobody. Nobody but one man, apparently awaiting other's arrival. In some brand of dark humor he sat underneath a gaudy banner in the middle of the little pub, by a table covered in bottles of booze, party food, and a very dead demon, laid across the table with its blood soaking into the wood, most of its organs neatly set out around it. The man himself swirled a wineglass in hand, appearing quite bored and sipping from the thick fluid within- Far too dark to be real wine. He simply stared at the door with pale white eyes, the metal claws on his hand tapping against the glass and the immense white wings behind him idly flapping, stirring the banner over his head to briefly make the words printed on it clear- 'Welcome, Hell's Angels!'.
The man's brows furrowed and he muttered to himself.
".... God needs to stop trying to throw us parties."