Nellie’s Pub and Eatery [open]

Glancing up from the racks of whiskey she was dusting through with a dry rag, checking both the dates on the labels and the contents that remained in the bottle, even mixing the same brands where there was barely enough to make half a bottle from either, Róisín jumped at the sound of the door to bar closing. She hadn't noticed Walter placing the money on the counter; she'd been so distracted by checking for outdated product - if whiskey and rum had expiry dates, it would be her that would find them - and checking for empties or near empties, that she hadn't even noticed what had been going on around her for at least a solid half hour.

"Huh." she said quietly, scooping up the cash from the counter and counting through it before ringing it up on the register and depositing it in the drawer. He'd be back, if he wanted a place to sleep, and he'd be back if he wanted a job. Or at least that was what logic dictated. Logic tended to do its own thing these days, and Róisín wasn't entirely sure if that was a good or a bad thing, to be left behind by understanding. This was one of those moments, but she shrugged it off, as she did most things.

Brushing her dusty hands off on her apron, feeling slightly industrious in the nineteenth century notion of the word, she watched John for a moment. "Per'aps it's just me," she said slowly, "but did you get a strange feeling about that lad?"

Maybe it was just her, and this was just some form of vampiric senility setting in after being around for so long; she had no way of really knowing because she knew no other vampires, and the one she had known, once upon a time, was dead by her own hand and at the time he'd been no more than fifty. Maybe even less than that. She couldn't remember. She didn't care to remember, actually.