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Raguel comes in and makes his usual beeline for an unobtrusive vantage point. He glances at the settle-up sign at the bar, slows, and looks again.

He crosses to the board showing all the tabs. Blinks. Digs in his pockets. Stares at his findings.

"Damn," he mutters. A few coins are deposited on Bar's surface - far less than enough - and after one final rummage through his bag the angel stalks moodily to a corner table.

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A plate of cookies is dropped in front of him.

A man in a dark coat drops across from him.

Anvils fail to drop directly on Raguel, so perhaps this, at least, is a good sign.

"You would like hot chocolate, as well?"

"Apparently, I can't afford it," he grumbles. "But thanks for the cookies."

He actually takes one of his own free will. It is a red-letter day, ladies and gentlemen.

Say it is not so!

Raven wrinkles his nose.

"Money is so difficult to obtain, then?"

"No, not really. But I don't like debts. And I can't seem to shake this vision of somebody finally coming to tell me I'm needed upstairs and I've got to say, 'Can't right now. You'll have to wait until I've paid off my bar tab.'"

Raven laughs.

"It is a good excuse, though. They cannot dispute it, not and remain as they were made, yes?"

"I don't really know. It's a hard line to draw. But I imagine they would come up with something about relative importance to the fate of the world, et cetera."

"I believe, if I recall correctly, they are meant to think the smaller things just as important as the greater."

Raven wrinkles his nose.

"Though possibly I was reading the wrong translation. It is a thing that happens."

He tilts his head, thoughtful.

"I thought you didn't like meant to and supposed to. Or do you consider this different circumstances?"

"I do not like it, no."

Raven grins.

"But for those who choose to follow those strictures--well, they should follow them, yes?"

"You'd think so."

Raguel snorts.

"It's all secondhand, anyway. Maybe they would, at that. It's been centuries since I had a conversation with anyone in authority that didn't include some variation on 'go to hell,' so I don't really know."

"They were telling you? Or was it the reverse?"

"They told me. Or, well. I might have responded in kind. But a lot of them seem to think I've already been there and should go back as soon as possible."

He seems more incredulous about this than annoyed, and frowns at the cookie plate.

"You have not, then?"

Raven is merely curious.

Also he owns a bridge.

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Antigone wanted a corner table, but Raguel has apparently beaten her to it.

She gives him a sour look.

He looks warily back at her. He's feeling a little possessive at the moment, but then, he thinks, she probably pays her bar tab.

"It's fine if you want to sit here, you know."

Only because Creon's picking up her slack.

Antigone glances at him, expression seeming to say, You've got to be kidding me.

But she sits.

There could easily be worse company, right?

Raguel seems to agree, leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable. He makes his customary scan of the bar and drums his fingers on the table.

"So," he says at last. "How've you been?"

Antigone fixes him with a look.

One of those looks.

Yeah. Check out the icon.

"Fine."

Raguel looks right back.

"Yeah. Me too.

Care to elaborate?"

Antigone glances away quickly, biting her lip.

Then she scowls.

"No."

"Right. Didn't think so."

A long pause, and he wonders belatedly whether he should try again.

"I'd ask if anything of interest had caught your eye this week, but I get the feeling you wouldn't want to talk about it."

Antigone's fingers twist in the fabric of her skirt.

"I've just been thinking. That's all."

"Uh huh. Thinking."

It's clear he doesn't quite believe this, but doesn't know it for sure.

"That's the sort of thing that tends to get me into trouble."