Seth Gecko

[Seth is cleanly dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans, hair in place, face clean shaven, and quite drunk in spite of this. He has been alternating which pub shift he patronizes, and taking advantage of his relatively low tolerance and ability to function while drunk, to mask how far into the bottle he's crawled. He looks functional. He acts functional. He's not.]

Sssso. After several months of experience, it seems pretty safe to assume that when a Warden fucks up bigtime, or needs to be propped up by his Inmate constantly, or fucking murders the person he's responsible for, he doesn't face any actual consequences. But an Inmate would.

Two sets of laws. One for the privileged and one for the rest of us. Juuuust like back home.

[He slams another shot and stares into the glass.]

Guess the pessimists on board were right after all.

[private to the Admiral]
Yeah, ok, fine, here's my fucking list.

For Richie, get him a good bulletproof vest that he can wear under his clothes, and some kinda amulet or ring or something that wards off evil--and crazy angels.

For B, get her one of those superhero suits. You know, the kind that are pretty much armor? Make it in black.

For Lua, get her a fucking stun-gun. Really high voltage. Because her relationship is a domestic murder waiting to happen and she needs some way to fend that asshole off.

For Doyle, get him a remote control plane with a viewcam attached, that shoots Nerf pellets.

For Yen Sid, get him a pointy wizard's hat that dispenses snacks when he reaches into it.

Cody needs a new collar that actually fits him. And I need a fucking wet bar so I don't have my drinking habits monitored by a certain over-controlling bartender.

As for Castiel....

[He hesitates.]

A pair of horns and a note suggesting that he be more honest about what he is.
A permanently broken nose.
A pink slip signed by God.
A really bad Satanic tattoo on his forehead.
A permanent ferocious itch somewhere he could never possibly reach.
A shiny new jail cell in place of his Warden quarters.

[He sighs and runs his hand back through his hair, messing it up a little. It's pointless.]

...never mind. 

[spam for pub]
[Seth has a table near the jukebox and has queued up every George Thorogood song on the goddamn thing. He's got four shots in him, just enough to keep him from wanting to start a fight just to burn off his frustrations. He wants six. Six would make him forget for a while and be able to have some fun. He's watching to see who's on duty to see if he can finesse it.]

[Seth somehow managed to dodge getting killed during Breach, but he does have a just slightly stunned look on his face from it all.]

Well. Having now looked at the whole prohibition-of-inebriants thing from both sides of the argument, I gotta say that as far as I give a damn about law, my pro-legalization stance has never been firmer. That said, I am going to get a goddamn drink, and I don't care who joins me so long as they've got an interesting story to tell. 

[private to Richie]
Holy fucking...fuck, Richie, I turned into a cop for three days. Seriously, what the Hell. There is not enough whiskey in the fucking world, my brother.

[friends filter]
Hey, checking in. You guys okay?

[Pubspam]
[He knocked on the door until he was let in, intending to carouse until he had gotten that goddamn Breach thing out of his head. He asked for a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black and some shot glasses. He didn't really care who showed up as long as they weren't assholes. Whoever showed, he was going to pour until everyone was toasty.]