Express // Castiel

Lucille had left Hell once again, as she usually did, and had come out on Earth, being in constant need of another human’s soul to torture, another young man or woman to make her own. She loved this power and she had still not got bored of it, but who would? He met handsome men and beautiful women and turned them into her own sex toys. Afterwards, God help, she did whatever she wished with them, and satisfaction was taken to a whole new level. No mortal could feel with anyone the way he or she felt with her, so she did not necessarily consider herself to be one of the evil. She gave people pleasure, it was not her fault that those tiny white angels had no idea what this meant.

That night however was a rather special one for Lucille. One of the men she had met owned a Burlesque-type of club and he had invited her to be some kind of guest star that night. The cherry on top of the cake, as he had named her. And of course, she couldn't say no. Before her moment, she went straight to the bar. Alcohol was another thing she enjoyed, especially when it was mixed with sex. In which way, that was up to each individual’s imagination. Despite the fact that at first she had wanted something strong, she eventually decided for a cocktail, a White Russian; she had to stay sober, after all. Soon enough however, she was on the stage, dressed in a sexy suit, doing her moves. She was indeed surrounded by hot girls, but she was the star of the number, and that was rather obvious.

Where Cas had ended up that night of human-watching he couldn't tell. It was loud and full of humans.
It was the third that night. And slightly better than the first two where he had been avoiding being puked on, thrown at, yelled at and whatnot.
Bars were places to observe human worst parts of nature and witness terrible and hilarious behaviors.
All kinds of experience to learn about.

And being an angel not worry a thing. Right?
It was before somebody decided to try him as a punching bag.
And before Cas had ended up hiding his fast healing.
Right.
He couldn't even choose a seat without somebody trying to make a sandwich out of him.

And this was no exception.
Castiel even ordered a drink (not that he needed anything as an angel) hoping to blend in better.
It, of course, ended up with a fist aimed straight to his nose and a bit of a subtle scuff around half the place's floor before somebody came to relieve him from the agitated man with too much alcohol in his system to maintain a clear head. Plus he got one free shot and apology from the barmaid who obviously had taken a bit pitty and much liking of him.