A priest, witch and an atheist walk into a bar...

 Another WritePrompt!

(it took a bit. Why? Well, look around. The world is wild. lol)

Reverend Trevor sat quietly at the bar, slowly sipping his old fashioned. His surroundings at the local bar were a bit livelier than he recalled, but it didn't bother him too much. The din helped to distract him from the absolutely rotten day he had at the Church. 

Getting chewed out by the Bishop, flubbing his lines during altar call...it was a lot. That and he almost messed up that exorcism? No wonder he needed a drink, he groused. It was his fervent hope that the booze would soothe his bruised ego and lull his mind into a languid stupor.

Emptying his tumbler, he sat it on the bar with a soft thud. A woman wearing a crop top rested her elbow on the bar, leaning near the Reverend.

"Want another one, Padre?"

He nodded in response, but followed up with a short phrase. "Just call me Trevor. Not a Padre of any stripe right now."

A voice rang out from a few feet behind him. 

"Well, will wonders never cease? A man of the Church telling the truth!"

Trevor didn't even have to turn around to know whose voice it was. "Fuckin' Ruth Thibodeaux."

A statuesque Black woman wearing a floor length black duster, jeans, tank top and a smile flipped her coat behind her and sat on the seat next to him. 

"Wonderful seeing you again, Redgrave. Still aiding and abetting those bastards in the church?"

He snorted and shook his head slowly.  "We're keeping them in line. Still hawking snake oil and saying it's helpful?"

She swept up her waist length locs into a quick and messy bun, laughing all the while.

"At least I sell what's tangible. Speaking of which..."

Ruth dug into her messenger bag and brought out two stoppered glass bottles and a small hand stitched bag. She gestured to the bartender and pointed down at them. 

"Here are the oils and the mojo bag you wanted. Feed the bag as directed by your Folks. Light a candle, sit with them and go from there. They won't steer you wrong."

The bartender smiled brightly and passed her a folded wad of money. Ruth picked it up and peeled off a few bills and slid it back. 

"This will do just fine. You paid me a decent down payment and I'd feel bad if I took more."

"But --" 

"Look, if you're desperate for that money to do work, donate it to the afterschool program down on Arthur Ave."

She nodded firmly and swept the items up in one swoop, grinning all the while.

"Well, next drink is on me. That alright, Mama?"

Ruth returned the grin and replied," it'd be damn rude of me to refuse."

"Look at you, no better than the Church. Taking advantage of kindness."

She received the drink, raised it a salute to Trevor and took an appreciative sip. 

"Get knotted, Trevor."

They enjoyed their beverages in silence. It stretched on for a bit until someone else sidled up to the bar. 

"Would you look at that? Two living, breathing examples of my classes."

The two at the bar grumbled in unison.

"Merde."

"Grayson."

A brown skinned man all of 6' tall and finely dressed in a grey three piece suit sat down next to Trevor. 

"Redgrave. Thibodeaux."

He then turned to the bartender and raised a hand in greeting. 

"Good evening. Ginger ale and Glenfiddich, please."

She made a face signifying her approval of his choice and set about fixing it.

Ruth raised her head from her drink and called out to the newcomer. 

"Gregory Grayson. Never could get over your name, though. You sound like the alter ego of a Marvel character."

He swept his blazer off his broad shoulders and draped it across the back of his chair in one fluid movement. 

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not. Still more believable than what you both get up to."

Trevor scoffed into his glass at the jibe, but Ruth stood up immediately. 

"You're Black, man. What I do probably has connections in your family, mine, the whole damn diaspora!"

Gregory received his drink and tipped generously. Raising the glass, he took a small sip and smiled at the taste.

"It wasn't my wish to offend you. I'm sorry. I am a person that believes what they see, but it's no excuse to be rude to someone. I got your next drink, Ruth."

She nodded slowly, seating herself again. 

Trevor looked at both of them. "And I thought I was a hothead. You two have me beat."

All three heard something that caused them to stop their drinking.

"Oi, bartender! Snake wine spritzer!"

The bar grew silent for a moment due to the odd order, but it didn't last long. There was always some weirdo drifting into Red's Right Hand Pub. But the trio at the bar felt differently about it.

Trevor's hand trembled slightly. He only knew one person that was odd enough to drink that. 

Ruth's hand drifted to her pocket, hoping she didn't need what was in there. It couldn't be...

The drink soured in Gregory's mouth. This would be the cherry on an already shit sundae if it was him...

They all spoke at once, saying different names.

"Eli?"

"Dantalion?"

"Seth?"

The bartender set the jug of snake wine on the bar, the prepared drink sitting next to it. The pickled viper staring balefully out into the ether. 

A perfectly manicured hand slipped forward and tossed the correct payment onto the countertop and picked up the drink. 

The voice replied. "Yes? Can I help all of you?"

All of...they turned around and swore profusely. 

Ruth was the quickest out of the three. Clenched tightly in her fist was some silver plated knuckledusters. Her grip on them was terrifying, to the point her knuckles were going white.

"Dantalion. Didn't I tell you that the next time I see you that I'd be using you for spell components?"

The person question held up his hands in a show of peace. "Now now, Ruth. I thought by now we'd be okay -- oh dear. You're not alone, it seems. Trevor. Gregory. Good evening."

"Seth."

"Eli. You bastard."

Dantalion/Seth/Eli laughed, his deep crimson eyes sparkling in mirth. He tousled his black shoulder length hair, lost in thought. Then, straightening his red tie and sipping his beverage. 

"Really weird to see all of you here." He then flicked his wrist over the shoulder of his sharkskin suit.

Ruth leaned over and look at her two 'companions'. 

"The hell are you two talking about? That's Dantalion, a goddamned incubus! And a shitty ex on top of it."

Trevor raised his eyebrow, interested by the statement. "Incubus, huh. That kinda makes sense. I've been trying to hunt this fucker down for a bit. I had my suspicions, but yeah. Also a shit ex."

Trevor and Ruth looked at Gregory. He sighed, guessing that was his prompt to give his side.

"Seth. I guess he was a shit to all of us. But a demon? An incubus? I can't accept that. I'm an atheist that teaches Religious Studies. I need proof --"

The man of mystery sat his beverage down, laughing quietly to himself. 

"So, you mean the magic tricks I did for you weren't enough, Greg? You'd think what I could do with my tongue would be--"

Ruth pulled a bottle of condition oil out of her satchel, spreading it on the knuckledusters. "Ayo. Shut the fuck up."

"Fine," said Dantalion. "I'll prove it." 

He muttered something in an indecipherable tongue and for a quick moment, the world around them looked like a color inverted photograph, save for the bar area proper and the desired people. 

The patrons all around were frozen in whatever pose they were in beforehand.

Trevor stood up, still drinking. He held his glass close at hand and whispered something into it, quickly making the sign of the cross. He flung its contents at the being they all knew by different names.

Thankfully he wasn't paying much attention because he didn't dodge the fluid. It made contact, causing his slightly pale skin to bubble and peel. Screeching in rage, he tried to rid himself of the damning fluid.

Gregory was standing there, mouth agape. "What did you do, Redgrave? That couldn't have been acid, could it?"

"Nope," he said. Setting the glass down, he grunted a reply. "I blessed the drink. Anything blessed by the proper authorities has an adverse effect on the Unholy. Like our friend here."

He flicked his trench coat back, revealing a well worn satchel adorned with vials and silver crosses. 

"Maybe I can save this day after all."

Ruth didn't hear anything. All she saw was an opening, she ran forward and landed a solid right hook on his jaw. The sigils etched on the apparatus showed on his face, blistering and reddening rapidly. Gregory pointed at Ruth, stammering. "the fuck was ---"

"Conditioning oil, named 'fuck off' on some silver. Good thing to know that it works well."

His mind was blue screening. After all these years, he taught religion from the eye of an outsider. He wasn't a believer because he was never presented with any hard truth. And now, he's witnessing a witch and a priest smacking around a being who evidently pulled them into an alternate dimension.

'Well,' he thought. 'at least I'm in the right place to get drunk.'

Dantalion/Eli/Seth was changing in front of them. He was still in his clothes but his features changed significantly. His skin was sloughing off from the impact and scaling over, repairing the damage but revealing something far more sinister. 

What stood before them was not a human. Never was, but it was made plainer with this new appearance. 

"I just came here for a drink and maybe something else," it rasped. 

Trevor and Ruth said in unison, "Fuck off."

"We don't care," said Ruth. "You don't belong here. And it's pretty damn clear you've done enough damage."

Trevor's hand slipped into his satchel and revealed a cracked copy of the Bible. Flipping open to a dog eared page, he began chanting verses. The effect was desired because the demon twitched and convulsed. 

They all heard a voice from behind the bar. "Oh, fuck this."

The bartender stood up on the counter top, a shotgun cocked and aimed at the demon's head. 

"You violated the treaty, you shitbird."

She pulled the trigger and salt sprayed violently from the barrel, aerating his head. She reloaded with a speed none of them could follow and let off two more shots into his body.

An earsplitting shriek emitted from the degenerating demon. Glasses broke, and the snake wine shattered as well. 

She looked at the snake surrounded by broken glass. "Clean up duty."

The snake that looked desiccated was now looking responsive. It blinked and hissed in response, slithering speedily to the mess that was the dying demon. 

She sat on the bar, turned around and hopped back behind the bar like nothing happened. The snake came back, looking a lot healthier than what they saw it last. 

The bartender was smiling at all three of them. "So...want another drink?"

They all nodded, stunned into silence. Their surroundings had gone back to normal, but after what they saw, it didn't matter. 

"At least we're in the right place to cope with it."