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"Typical anti-smoking bulls#!T.....you'd think I would be used to it by now."
Mo J walks outside with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lip just like his childhood hero, John Wayne.
"Vodka and tonic for when I get back inside," he says to the barkeep.
"and easy on the tonic chief. Been one of those weeks I'm tryin' real hard to forget."

"Cigars? I'll leave those for the big red monkey. And besides," he says as he flicks the butt away, "who needs insurance? Old people and banks, that's who. But thanks for the advice. Come back to me with that one when I'm rolling around here in a wheelchair sipping prune juice from a tippy cup. Or a large vault starts growing out my a$$....whichever comes first"
He takes a seat at stool two down from her's, right in front of where his drink sits, the glass sweating in anticipation of being consumed by the thirsty and tired agent.
"Sorry, long day, just like most of 'em. What are you drinking?"

"Laura? Nice to meet you....friends call me Mo J, like the juice, or just Mo if you're running out of breath, or time." He takes a sip and swivels his stool so he is facing her directly.
"Been working with the enhanced-talents task force in the field for a little while now. Before I joined the Bureau, I researched paranormal activity and events throughout most of the South and heartland of the U.S....Texas, Oklahoma, Mississippi....if there is a church in town and people playing banjos who have seen ghosts or such, I've probably been there. You'd be surprised what lurks in the corn fields of Nebraska and Kansas."
He takes another sip, this time wiping his brow with the cool glass, as if all this talking is making him hot. "How long you been here with the BPRD?"

"I can't seem to remember the last weekend that wasn't crazy ever since I started working here..." he said as he stared at the half empty glass in front of him. With one final gulp, he finished the drink and slid it on the counter towards the bartender. "That's enough for me today, thanks. And with that, I must excuse myself. These damned reports don't write themselves. It was a pleasure meeting you Laura....perhaps we will run into each other around here soon. Or maybe in the field; I would love to work with you sometime."

There's two things Jo disliked most. That was rain and the common cold.

Well after a hard night's work of exorcising and being a basic superhero, it had rained buckets. And since she never dried off properly-

"Achoo!"

Well...yeah...

Plopping down at the bar, she rubbed her wet temples. Today was not going into her favor. She tapped her knuckles on the bar.

"Strawberry Daiquri..."

This is using the character I hope to use in the other free form!

Jo's hands, cold, clammy, and incompetent, flopped lazily to her sides and hung limply. Jo set her chin down onto the bar, waiting for her drink to help warm her frozen hands. She sniffled. She really hated having a cold. It was like being a million unpleasant and snotty things all at once...

She had her eyes closed, lips pursed in a way a child had when they're annoyed, and waited for the savior of alcohol when the scraping of a chair caught her attention. She blearily opened one eye, spotting a boyish youth perched oddly in his chair. She reangled her head more comfortably on the bar to look. She had merely wandered into the bar, desperate for reprieve from the rain and a long day's strain. She would look odd amongst the regulars here.

"Cold..." she finally muttered to herself, pulling her eyes away from the crooked youth. The bartender really needed to move it...

Jo moved back and forth irritably in her seat. Where was the bartender anyways? Shouldn't he be on duty or something? She looked over to the shadowed youth.

"Oi...where'd the bartender go?" she asked slurringly, nose clogging much of her gravelly voice.