Damned visions always left him with a killer headache, he doubted a pint or six was going to help much as he tiredly went down the steps into the Boston bar. At the moment, he didn't rightly care much though. Not after the load of crap the demon Whistler just dropped on him about destinies and the powers and time to head for LA to wait for a "Champion of the Light" to show up. Said Champion wasn't in LA yet, he was trying to stop an Ascension a couple hours north of that particular city that was coming up soon.

Of course if this Champion and his ex the Slayer and her merry band of highschool misfits didn't manage that job, it was the end of the world.

"What can I getcha?" the waitress asked. She was small and worn and her eyes shone with attitude enough for a dozen people twice the size she was.

"Beer, lots of it." Doyle responded.

She chuckled. "Bad day, huh?"

"You could say that," he muttered. Demons that work for Omniscient Higher Powers. Another of those blasted visions, only the fourth he'd had but they were going to become a regular sort of thing according to Whistler. A murder stopped, ducking the police who he really didn't want to deal with even if he was the Good Samaritin in that particlar scene. Orders to go to Los Angeles or have Omniscient Higher Powers royally pissed off and wait for the Champion to show up there, if the world didn't end in the mean time. Bad didn't begin to cover the day he'd had.

"Irish?"

"Aye, how'd ye guess?" Doyle managed a grin and thickened his brogue just a bit for the effect.

She snorted. "Guinness?"

"God yes," he nodded. "Anything will do at the moment, but that sounds good."

"Be right back."

Doyle nodded absently. He really didn't want to do this. Why did these Powers choose him of all people? He was half demon and had screwed up everything he'd ever touched so far in his 27 years.

"Hey, Carla, two beers, Normie'll be along in a minute" a post man called out as he entered the bar.

"Keep your pants on, Cliff," the waitress shot back heading toward Doyle. "Here you go"

Doyle pulled out his wallet. "Ye need this?"

She glanced at the ID just to be safe, though the haunted look in his eyes when he came in she hadn't even thought he might be too young.

He handed her a the cash to pay for the beer and sat contemplating what he was going to do--other than go to LA because he really didn't see a way out of that.

"Ya wanna talk about it?"

Doyle looked up to see the waitress had sat herself at his table.

"Hey Carla, a little service here" the heavy man in a suit that was seated at the bar with the postman shouted. Doyle hadn't noticed him come in at all.

"Buzz off, Norm, I'm busy" she shot back loudly without even looking at him. "What? Don't look at me like that. Ya remind me of my kid" she said to Doyle.

Doyle shook his head. After all how could you explain any of his day so far. "Phone call from the ex-wife that went bad, killer headache, almost got mugged, and getting transferred to the West Coast effective immediately. Leave day after tomorrow, emergency thing. Just an overall crap day, that's about all there is to it." He offered when it became clear the pushy waitress wasn't going anywhere until she got an answer.

"Carla!" the postman whined loudly. "A man could die of thirst here!"

Carla nodded. "Well holler when you need another, I gotta get those two bozos shut up."