AN: This is a fanfic of Bendy and the Ink Machine oc's and is made in collaboration with UnKnown294

Abel the rebel angel: by twisted-wind (on deviantart)

Benicio (Bendy) mod!boss: by thelostmoongazer (on tumblr)

Elymas: by animal-guardian (on tumblr)

My own OC's (Gizmo the crow, Fonzy the fox, Luna the wolf, Deeralyn the roe deer, Diana the fairy and Jack the faun)

oOo

The day's evening is quiet for Abel the Rebel Angel. It's within the right amount for him to relax through while he spends the last several hours of another long exhausting day at the tavern. He's the type that dislikes a whole bunch of guests taking their time through their loud chatterings; the bustling of toons coming and going through the doorway; even the celebratory clinking of glasses when payday comes rolling in gets a bit nerve-wracking on his drunken mind.

And judging by the lambent, yellow rays filtering from the streetlamps and through the windowpanes behind him - the fading ends hitting the back cabinets where liquor bottles and other items were stored - it won't be long before the bar becomes either filled with obnoxious and flirtatious toons - who, in his opinion, would rather spend their nights in-between the liquor and the cosy, smooth bar music than to be miserably alone in their homes - or continue on in this nice and tranquil ambiance.

Abel currently sits at one of the chosen bar stools in one of his favored bars, the name 'The Wishing Well' having been remarkably familiarized in his mind - due to him spending so much time there - that he could call it a second home. The tavern's one of the several solaces for him to wind down when a hectic day's ordeals became too much. It lets him get the chance to give up some of his built-up mental stress - mostly thanks to a certain mob boss demon - in exchange for a bit of a substance reliever or two.

There was no one to draw their gun at their companion when drunkenly starting a heated argument. Nobody played foul at the far right corner of the tavern's entrance where the entertainment area resides, tapping the ends of pool sticks against numbered balls and cheating with seemingly cool shots while shouts of praise clouded the air around them. Best of all, no toons have pestered him. Their too-close-for-comfort faces and drunken demeanors adorning them like masquerade masks made him uneasy and annoyed. Alongside those masks came with the God-awful stench of cocktail-mixed, alcoholic scents and their owner's shameless complaints about their measly problems in their daily Toon Town lives. There was no easy way of alleviating debauchery-based headaches even after he leaves.

He relishes these tranquil atmospheres, however, and it shows by having two, little pull-ups on ivory mouth corners presenting themselves. The thought of it being this nice and not having those experiences again flew into his thought process like a striking bolt of lightning.

It was instantly squashed by a metaphorical shoe.

A barely heard huff of dull amusement escapes his ounce of a smile. The notion wasn't a simple wish that the night sky can grant, no matter how childish that may sound.

Submissively enjoying a shot of whiskey that's taking care of a pair of floating, half-melted ice cubes in his right hand, Abel lifts said item to his lips. He lets the alcohol smoothly trickle down his throat until there was nothing left but the clinking ice idling behind its circular prison, a pleasurable burning sensation accompanying the taste. The glass is then settled back down with a dull thunk to the mahogany counter, a very thin sheen of condensation curtaining the object's surface. The chill that it produces lightly kisses his fingers.

In the other, wedged betwixt his index and middle fingers is a thick cigar, possibly from the Cuban country. The foot hangs over an ashtray while a small pile of ash accumulates in it, the tobacco stick further reducing in length as time went on. Lips meet the cap; next, an inhale; lastly, a smoke ring is produced, gradually floating in the air until fading out of existence.

As he absent-mindedly listens to the mellowed gospel tune being carried out by the Crosley Cathedral-styled radio from its perch on the curved centerpiece, Abel can pick up on the bartender's clip-clopping hooves faintly go about the place, his footfalls not hurried and heavied from exertion, as per usual; they're allayed by the building's serene mood. The movement was made more evident by the clunking thunks produced from a few variations of alcoholic-filled bottles being deposited at one of the booths to the far left from Abel's seat. They became further noticeable in his direction as they went away from the other customers.

He glances up from the empty shot glass when the bar flap lets out a tinny squeak. Coming into his line of sight is the bartender and best friend himself: Elymas the Demon.

"Is everything to your liking, mate?" Elymas asks, putting away the serving dish under the bar counter - no doubt having compartments for easier access. He then pulls out a pint glass with a slightly used rag and starts cleaning the inside of its surface.

The rebel angel, meanwhile, scans the many branded assortments being kept at the back wall with a cursory glance, inhaling another cloud of the cigar's contents into his lungs. Each container that stands proudly in front of the large pane came in all varying shapes and sizes, colors and neutrals, and many company names claiming them as their own.

Smoke slithers above his head as the toon angel replies. "Yeah, couldn't have it any better..."

For a moment, a beat of silence is shared between the two.

A thought passes through Abel's head, his face turning to one of questioning. "Ye wanna know somethin', Elymas?" He points the end of his cigar at an eyebrow-raised Elymas, more bits of ash falling off the tip and landing on the counter. "It's been pretty quiet here lately..." Both his brows pinch in the middle of his face as he looks straight at his friend, a sense of foreboding coating over his next sentence. "I've not seen Benicio for a while... Know anythin'?"

Elymas shrugs his light-blue-furred shoulders, a downward corner tilt of his lips presenting itself as he wipes away the fallen ash. It's as if he, too, either doesn't know the mob boss's whereabouts himself or knows what's about to happen next. It was the former. "Couldn't tell you if I could, Abel." His palliative, crooner's voice carries on in his answer. "I have not seen the chap since a few days ago after the Dragon's Den Heist went into shambles."

Abel supplies him a noncommittal hum, planting an elbow on the countertop and settling his head onto his palm.

Two days before yesterday, Benicio had found the final lead in the Dragon's Den Heist. For about a few months, it was a major one that had him tracking its location towards an elusive studio on the outskirts of Toon Town. The mob boss had been following rumors and snippets from his henchmen those long weeks, some leading to dead ends that left him frustrated and nearly shooting someone in the head with his favored gun while other ones had him go around town in hasty excitement.

It wasn't until four days ago that he had notified Abel to visit him at another one of their specific bar hotspots. Once there, he wanted the angel to join him in the escapade via his car, which he had apprehensively declined and had lost in the transaction. Abel remembers Benicio saying that several of Gizmo's colleagues had caught wind of many shipment trucks - no doubt carrying crates full of illegal ink - traveling through unfamiliar streets and that only at night is when everyone goes home out of fear of staying within the studio until sunrise.

Let's just say, when they had gotten there and went to perform the robbery, he opts to not go back to that studio ever again. A nearly torn-off wing and bite marks from multiple sharp-tooth mouths aren't worth the illegal foreign ink.

A small, misty silence goes over the two friends once more. Even then, while the place still stays in a tranquil state, it can be shattered in an instant.

As if on cue, the transom, wooden door gets unexpectedly kicked wide open, banging against the left side of the bar's entryway that's then followed by a loud smack. Abel and Elymas, along with the few remaining visitors, all jump and tense in their seats at the sudden noises.

In a span of under a minute, Abel's reflexes got the better of him when he backhands the shot glass - the barkeeper having to duck under the countertop to avoid being smacked in the face as it soars over his head. The angel cringes, his shoulders jerking up a bit, just as he witnesses the item colliding against the backdrop. Shattering follows suit and Abel winces more from the harsh sound that it creates, watching as another broken glass piece drops off and clinks upon landing.

Elymas, for his part, carefully rises and turns around towards the impact's creation, his friend watching him out of the corner of his eyes with shock written over his face as he, too, witnessed the results unfold. A small-to-medium-sized spider web is etched across the backdrop mirror, several pieces of various reflective shapes having gone missing from their original positions. They leave behind a gaping hole in their wake. Not realizing that one of his legs had risen, Elymas places it back down and winces upon hearing something else under his hoof other than hardwood. He glances down, spotting both bits of the shot glass intermingling with the mirror shards. A large piece lies halfway underneath his hoof.

The demon bartender turned his head and, with eyelids cast partially low, sends an 'Are you serious?' expression at the rebel angel.

Abel, whose face turns from utter shock to one of embarrassment, responds back with grey blushed cheeks and a sheepish grin. Simultaneously rubbing the back of his head, tussling a bit of light-blue hair in the process, the failed attempt of a concealed, nervous chuckle slips into the open. "I'll, uh... help pay for that…" The halo above his head dribbles almost to his hair while stiff wings fold tentatively close to his sides.

Elymas stares at Abel with a polite askance across his facial features for a few seconds longer. Crossing his arms over his chest, Abel's best friend shakes his head. He wasn't angry, just a bit disappointed.

Abel's shoulders and wings droop at that reaction.

The barman then sighs quietly like the curse he sets loose, relaxes his posture so that it nearly resembles a stalwart servant, and switches towards a nod with acceptance gracing his smile. "Alright. Please, get the payment ready by the end of the week." He can deal with replacing the mirror - it was in need of being removed anyway - and buying another shot glass wasn't really a big deal.

With that being said, Abel reflects the expression back, easing most of the guilt-ridden tension off of himself.

Before the awkwardness awakens, Elymas stoops out of sight so that he can begin the task of cleaning up the fallen shards, crouching towards the bottom row of cabinets, and opening up one of them to retrieve a dustpan and brush broom. An unexpected, inappropriate giggle rings through the air and the sudden remembrance of how the accident happened in the first place has Elymas instantly popping back up, both objects gripped tightly at the handles by his sides. Both bartender and angel focus their respective irritated glares towards whoever caused the door to slam open, Abel having to swivel around in his seat beforehand.

In the doorway stands the very cartoon demon himself. A proximal, face-splitting grin is plastered across his black and white face for all to witness, his merriment pie-cut eyes immediately locking onto the barkeep and rebel angel. He's in his usual attire that mainly consists of a classic, button-down, white shirt - the sleeves always rolled up to his elbows while the red bowtie accented the collar region - black suspenders that held up a pair of tan slacks, and black casual shoes. Practically the whole "mob" shebang, if you imagine it.

Benicio advances into the establishment with a strut in his steps, a sinister, yet cocky, atmosphere acting as his shield. You didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that something exciting is on the mafia leader's mind like a spirit trickster's about to target someone via pranking them. His thin, spear-tipped tail ticks in a docile sway behind him.

"Oh boy, speak of the Devil…" Abel mutters to himself, rolling his eyes.

"And he shall appear." Elymas finishes the rebel angel's sentence with a chirp and playful smirk that feigns innocence.

Abel, in return, does a facepalm, groaning at the bad attempt of a pun. He can hear his friend chuckle quietly, amusement coated into it.

The chuckles fade to nothing and the two look back towards the arrivals. They immediately understand that Benicio didn't come alone.

Trailing a step behind him is a toon resembling a crow. A long, grey trenchcoat's worn over his sleeveless, charcoal-feathered body. The bottom of the hem nearly drags off the floor as he gently shuts the door, then quickly catches up to the demon's side. Tied around his neck is a khaki green neckerchief that holds no designs through its material. To complete the crow's features, a black fedora neatly rests on top of his head with a white stripe surrounding the headwear. He gives the two an eggshell-beaked smile, which, to only Elymas's acknowledgment, goes unnoticed.

Almost in the same timespan, as quickly as the amusement came, it gets doused by displeasure due to the unforeseen, destructive demon showing up at the tavern. He blames the coincidence on a triggered jinx. A sigh escapes the bartender's lips once more, index and thumb pinching the fold between closed eyes. When the demon and crow came into the separate duo's proximity, he lets it go and displays the same 'Are you serious?' expression to the two toons.

"My apologies, gentlemen. I must have misplaced the sign on the door that says: 'Let's Destroy Elymas's Bar Happy Hour'." Mellowed peevishness pipes itself through dry words. He then shoots a glare towards Benicio. "And, Benicio, for the last time, you can't just go and kick in people's doors like that!"

The hand with the brush broom gestures towards the transom door, the other carrying the dustpan taking place on his hip. The other mafia members' heads follow the outstretched hand's direction and they witness a hole - having been created by the brass knob - revealing itself under the skewed cork message board. Said board was about to collapse onto the closest booth.

They swivel their heads back just as Elymas's arm drops and shoulders sag, the previous tones now taking on renouncement as he speaks. "Who is going to pay for the damage this time...?"

The demon toon's brain must have been in Lala Land for too long, Abel assumes as he shoots Benicio an arched eyebrow. He tells himself that the other may have had cracked his noggin one too many times from something on his way to the tavern. Might have been all that reckless driving finally catching up to him...

Pie-esque eyes blink out of their dreamy delight and into confusion when meeting Elymas's narrower ones, the grin dropping a centimeter. "Huh, wha-?" He gives himself seconds to get out of his head and come up with a reply before snapping his gloved fingers and reforming his cheery expression. "Oh, right!" The look Benicio sends to the crow is one of expectancy when he delivers the order. "Gizmo, pay the man, would ya?"

Obeying the topmost man of the mafia family, Gizmo nods and swivels his sights towards his inner right pocket of the trench coat. Proceeding in pulling his leather wallet out of the inner pouch, the crow opens the side slit and picks out several slips of cash, then forks them over to Elymas. The wallet snaps shut and gets slipped back into the aforementioned slot as the barkeeper inserts the cash in his tailcoat's breast pocket.

Satisfied with the transaction, Benicio makes an akimbo while his shoulders slack with blithe. "There! Happy now, barkeep?"

"For now..." Elymas replies, a compliant nature blanketing over clipped speech. A quiet sigh flows out of his nostrils before his gaze goes towards Gizmo. "I will be requiring your services for a moment." The response he gets from the crow is a halfhearted shrug. Elymas then firmly glances at the opposite duo. "Gentlemen, if you two will excuse us..."

Neither of them saying anything, both rebel angel and demon mob boss watch on as Elymas exits through the flap again. A purposeful expression covers over the demon barkeep's face, sharing a similarity in his strides while he leads Gizmo towards the dented wall and possibly unhinged doorway.

When they were out of their sights, Abel pivots his head back towards the demon just before Benicio slides right next to him, intending to give him a friendly pat. Instead, the other just harshly slaps his hand in-between his shoulder blades for a total of three times. The angel nearly topples out of his seat from the force of each one, a low grunt slipping out of his slight clenched teeth when reaching the last one.

"So, Angel Face, how's it goin'?" The winning grin on his face is a crooked right while his New Yorker voice adopts a sing-songy tone.

Righting himself immediately by using the countertop as support, Abel sends Benicio an unamused glare, letting his right arm lay across the bar counter with his hand hanging off the edge. The other hand rubs gently at the abused spot. "Everythin' was just fine 'n dandy 'til a moment ago..." The angel's southern drawl and wary gaze were his replies to the mob boss, wishing that he can be left alone with just the cigar once more.

Benicio just didn't pick up on the apathetic undertone or wasn't really bothered by the underlined hint in the slightest. Either way, he slides onto the stool next to Abel's right and faces the angel while mimicking his posture. "In that case, it's a good thing I'm here!" His thumb regards himself, then switches to his index towards Abel as he declares, "I have somethin' that might cheer ya up!"

An eyebrow is raised as the left arm drops onto his lap. "Is that so?" The tone in Abel's voice was mostly cautious, yet held a tendril of interest.

Benicio grows close to the left side of Abel's head until his fanged mouth is next to an absent ear, his voice low enough for only them to hear. "Get a load of this: Gizmo has somethin' interestin' to report!" It's as if the demon was a kid telling the other a deep and creepy secret. "It'd be the easiest gravy yet!" An excited snicker flutters through grinning teeth.

A meager uneasiness starts to develop in Abel's chest, tricking his mind into thinking that it's another foreboding sensation as he unintentionally holds his breath. When it comes to the demon plotting for a heist, the sensation usually comes to warn him ahead of time. Eight times out of ten, it's correct in its prediction.

Benicio moves away just as quickly as he was near, straighten posture taking over by confident laidbackness. If it were possible, the corners of his lips stretch more from their crooked grin into one of relaxed anticipation while his arms cross over his chest. "So, whaddya say? Ya up for 'nother robbery?" His tail shapes itself into a question mark. Whether it did the action intentionally or not is up to the imagination.

Abel can silently breathe again, even though the air had a smokey tinge to it. Yet, the inkling perception hadn't disappeared within the quiet exhale. "I don't know…" His eyes move away from the demon in faux disinterest, trying to get rid of the rousing suspense out of his system. "I was just gettin' into the peace 'n quiet." They come back to Benicio with a nonchalant shrug accompanying them. "Sorta like a vacation, ye know...?"

"Oh, c'mon! It's a simple job!" The demon frowns, exaggeration holding onto no boundaries as he does an akimbo. The demon then lets them flop down and points a finger-gun at Abel. The grin and sing-songy tune make their way back through his next dialogue. "Ya can even have a week's off without me rufflin' ya feathers afterward!"

Abel's interest, no matter how much he squished it down, was as piqued as he lets on, with or without the smidgen bribery tactic installed.

By then, Gizmo had dealt with the affairs between him and Elymas and now has rejoined his boss's side once more, taking the stool behind Benicio at the curvature portion. For the bartender, he goes back on the other side of the counter, reclaims both the dustpan and brush broom, and crouches out of sight to, once again, resume his task of cleaning up the broken glass pieces.

Benicio rotates in his seat and addresses the cartoon crow again. "Tell 'im what ya told me, Gizmo! Maybe that'll convince 'im!"

Gizmo nods at his boss and leans over the counter to face the angel. "There's this craic goin' around Toon Town lately." He starts off, a warbling lilt coming through his Irish dialect. "Almost everybody's talkin' about it. Apparently, there's an animation studio havin' been recently caught on fire. It's still intact, of course, but the buildin' is severely damaged. The owners of the place scavenged everythin' that wasn't destroyed and hid them in a secluded storage space until their studio's fully rebuilt. There be a lot of crates with fierce ink that had survived the fire and, even as we speak, are in said storage space."

The angel thinks through the information for a moment, doubt's presence having to push itself in front of temptation's approach. "That does sound interestin'... But, as ye done told, it's jus' a rumor." A cautionary tone comes into play again. "We don't even know where the exact location of this storage is, to begin with."

"'Bout that…" Benicio butts in. "We'd gotten an anonymous tip from someone earlier. I sent our newbie scout, Diana, on a reconnaissance mission and she had confirmed the whereabouts of the storage area. She also said it's basically in the middle of nowhere and that there didn't even appear to be any security 'round the place."

Abel quirks an eyebrow towards the mob boss. "Isn't that strange though? Who'd leave all their stuff unguarded like that?" His inquiries were thickly doused in skepticism. "Doesn't that even raise any suspicions to ye?" The last question had his voice rise an octave higher.

"Oh, lighten up, Halo Head!" The demon boss reassures as he pats twice on Abel's left shoulder, taking note of the small flinches when applying them. "They probably needin' all their funds to repair their studio and had blown the rest for their security!"

The amount of semi-denseness within Benicio's words didn't lessen Abel's suspicions nor the dumbfounded, incredulous look on his face. Out of the corners of one eye, Gizmo reflects a measured cringe expression that includes similar body language at the mob boss, to which is another action going unnoticed. In the other, Elymas has his brows knitted together, watching over this conversation in a perplexed manner.

"Yer a God-awful, cattywampus Yankee sometimes, Demon…" Abel manages to utter out.

Benicio lets go of the shoulder and shrugs. "Don't know what ya completely mean, but thanks anyway!" He then leans forward to where he perches both elbows onto his knees and rests his titled head on top of laced fingers. "Anyway, is it so hard to accept that it's an EASY job for once...?" An inquisitive brow shoots up, his voice taking in a faint and cajoling timbre. Yet, while the other toon couldn't place his finger on it, that mysterious smirk Benicio dons may have spoken something otherwise.

Abel's quiet response welcomes him and the silence swells between them to the point where Benicio's nonchalant thoughts gradually become a mildly anxious cesspool, the smirk falling down into a nervous frown. The mob boss views the rebel angel's face adopting a thoughtful character - no doubt sifting through the information in his mind until finalizing the material towards a conclusive answer - while taking hold of his nearly unattended cigar and inhaling some of its contents.

The mob boss unclasps his hands, straightens his posture once more, and shifts it so that he goes back to leaning against the countertop with the addition of crossing a leg over the other. "I'll buy ya another drink then." Another attempt at bribery comes forth, the frown practically wiping itself off into one of his usual bravados. "It's on me this time."

And as the demon toon raises a hand just after Elymas rises back up and takes notice of it, Abel inconspicuously blows a ring of smoke above the other's head. He shares his amusement towards the oblivious mafia boss by letting a tiny smirk play off his lips but doesn't let the snickering slip out upon witnessing the other now sporting a smokey halo adorning his horns.

After dumping the glass shards into the trash bin in a lower cubbyhole and putting away the small broom and dustpan in a mid-high one, Elymas tilts forward to take a few shot glasses out from their slot. Just out of his upper peripheral vision, he nearly misses the comical action taking place between demon and angel. Merriment takes the form of a smile as he sets the trio objects down in front of them, noticing that Gizmo is matching his expression to a 'T'. He concludes that the crow's also enjoying the little scene between the two friends. Then, turning around and grabbing both green and brown-tinted bottles, Elymas sets one of them down before placing the free hand over his mouth so that he can keep himself from laughing out loud.

The demon barkeeper couldn't hide the fact that his shoulders gave out the barest hints of bounciness.

He doesn't want to anger Benicio by laughing at him; mostly because it was due to him being one of his most loyal customers. That, and being the gracious individual who gave him ownership towards 'The Wishing Well' after being fired from his previous job at 'Toon Palace'. On the other hand, through their time and mutually established friendship, he's able to slacken the worrisome conjectures towards angering the demon too much via learning. An expression of melancholy and serene nostalgia takes merriment's place on his face as he turns his head and sees his friend, shoulders ceasing their bounciness.

At a time where things were at their weakest limits and the grand occasions dwindled into a drought, he had thought that he was endeavoring to be a good samaritan when helping Abel out in his homelessness situation. From his initial thoughts, by letting the angel into the establishment, the bartender can let him secretly siphon off whatever leftover meals and beverages from paying customers and assist the rebel in taking cover under his previous boss's noses. Both of them, during the time, had thought that they were given ample time to plan out their next motives in moving through life's monopoly once Elymas had scrounged up enough cash to keep them going.

It wasn't until then that they were found out just as they nearly came to the stopping point.

Elymas had never expected to be fired after the several attempts were made - he had thought that it could've gone on longer than possible, but that was just wishful thinking on his part - nor did he find himself winding up jobless during one of the country's fading points in history. However, in spite of the karmic turn of events, he never once blamed Abel for their misfortunes and neither himself for their justifiable operations. And from those efforts, they were lead towards a lifestyle that has benefited them both more than previous times.

The fellow who gifted them their present lifestyles was none other than Benicio himself.

And although one is overly zealous - even borderline irresponsible in some situations - for his liking and the other being compliant enough to take on the demon's dangerous heists with or without his consent, by meeting and spending time with these two toons, the bartender's life had gotten a bit more hectic than the usual banters. And he's not going to willingly give up this new chance at a better life at any point in time.

When Elymas turns fully around, settles the bottle down next to the shot glasses, and leans his upper half onto the bar top, the mob boss takes note of the barkeep's face. He quirks an eyebrow, a budding concern taking life and root in his mind. It's not an everyday occurrence to witness the bartender wearing such an attitude. What were the troubling thoughts swirling within Elymas's noggin that gives him it? The question about what was on the other's mind nestles itself contently at the tip of his tongue.

Before Benicio can set it loose, however, a wisp of a grey tendril catches his attention as it floats just out of his eyesight. They were immediately lead towards the crown of his head. A thin, writhing ring made of smoke greets him, its home over his horns taking in a lazy manner. He doesn't see the look evaporating back into amusement. Humorous, unamused askance claims its stake on his face - his pursed lips not helping him not look like an ill-tempered child - as the head of the mafia makes the halo dissipate with a few waves of a hand. He shoots the same look towards the snickering angel while simultaneously almost not hearing the reply.

"Alright, demon." A light smirk graces Abel's face. "Since ye have me as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine..." The rebel angel extends his right hand towards Benicio. "It looks like ye got yerself a deal."

All three toons' faces show startled, bordering on astonished, expressions upon hearing Abel's unhesitant answer.

Abel looks right back at them with an inquisitive one of his own, extended hand easing a little. "What? Why're ye guys lookin' at me like that?"

More often than not, the angel would put up a complaint with him first when dealing with robberies, especially towards ones that involve either toon potentially getting injured in the smuggling process. By Benicio's account, most of the received injuries that they've racked up over the years, even though nearly all of their heists turned out to be deathtraps, is at a near balance. Hell, the number may be in the hundreds by now since the start of 1932; however, he had lost count for a couple of years now. In his opinion, going through that many in a near decade's span isn't really a big problem and none of them had hurt anybody so far - unless their excursions were discussed with the other mob families, then that's a different story.

For Abel to not outright protest to this particular heist, despite the hesitation and suspicion that he took upon earlier... Maybe he'd either changed his mind, was in a better mood than he'd thought earlier, or was something else at play here? ...Welp, either way, he's not gonna complain about it! It's a rare opportunity and he's gonna snatch it! He can just shove these questions aside and think about them later.

Despite the ever-present foreboding presence lurking around them, the response gets the demon boss outright grinning. "Eh, it's nothin' to worry 'bout, Cherub!"

He grabs ahold of the angel's outstretched hand and firmly shakes it. Though a bit more pressure is filtered into the grip, the message of his unappreciation towards the smoke halo has been sent. And although the cheeky smirk on Abel's face widens a tad bit, the message was clearly acknowledged. He doesn't regret doing it, as clearly seen on his face.

They break the handshake and relax their sides against the tavern counter, the rising banterous atmosphere coming back in full swing.

Taking a swig at his nearly disintegrated cigar, Abel points his index, said item pinched between thumb and middle, at the mob boss. "Still gettin' that week's worth off though, Benicio. Better remember it!" He then mutters out an "Unlike the other times ye, oh so, "remembered"..." as he sets the item back in the tray.

"Right, right…!" Benicio waves a nonchalant hand back and forth as if he's swatting a nagging fly away, shooting a look that gave Abel the impression of a sneaky raccoon. "I'll definitely remember this time!" He gestures to himself with both hands. "And, y'know me! I'm the type of guy who can remember…" He trails off, looking towards another direction before quickly finding the right words. "... really important stuff!" He directs a sideways thumb at the barman, getting a wide-eye look straight back at him. "Like that time when Elymas kept that excess ink from one of our heists 'bout nearly a half a year ago in the back storage space?" It came out as more of a weak question than a remark.

A subtle, accusatory glare with a side of indignance comes forth. "Need I remind you that you had never come back nor retrieved said crates until the beginning of February of this year -"

"That was one time, Elymas!" He slaps a hand onto the counter while simultaneously having his other one raise an emphasizing index finger. The thump gets both crow and angel tense in their seats. At the same time, it makes the bartender freeze in place. "I did come back to get them with Gizmo, Fonzy, and Boris, didn't I?!" Out of the corner of his eye, Gizmo nods in confirmation.

His body slowly relaxing, an inquisitive brow rises up on said demon bartender's face.

A huff escapes as Benicio melodramatically rolls his eyes at Elymas's expression. Shoulders slumped forward in renouncement while arms became slack on the countertop and hands balling up into a loose clench. "Okay, fine! I did forget 'bout 'em until February and there were, of course, multiple times where I've forgotten about other things..." The glum gaze didn't make himself resemble a child! That'd be utterly ridiculous! But, the resilient eyebrow on the barman's face led him into making the idiotic expression.

"Yet, you still have the audacity to be forgetful sometimes..." The other holds back a sigh.

"But, can ya really blame me, barkeep?" He idly shrugs, features smothering out the pout. "I had my neck up to here -" A flat hand meets the halfway mark of his invisible neck. "- with drownin' under the other two heist projects! Barely slept a wink from all the plannin', runnin' 'bout, and new info pilin' up for 'em!" Left palm then upturned on a now supporting elbow, it sweeps towards Elymas. "Surely, ya can understand where I'm goin' with this…?"

Elymas lets several seconds run wild, having to come up with a reasonable response to Benicio's question. A reluctant sigh shoves its way out before he could speak, closed eyes accompanying it. He's got him there... "I do." Terse seriousness shades itself under the assent expression.

Eyelids curtaining back open, they lay a blanket of empathetic understanding upon Benicio's being. Memories of his observations towards the demon boss throughout those seemingly lengthy weeks came back up for the briefest of moments from where he had hidden them.

He had surreptitiously watched Benicio coming into the tavern one afternoon as he made his rounds, taking small glances of him sporting a slumped gait with a near wrinkling appearance. Tired mutters and mumbles that involved said plans were thrown out of his mouth while having no care in keeping his voice low to a minimum from passing customers. Let's just say, the boss was irritated enough to nearly beat someone half to death with his fists if provoked a lot.

At another point, when the bartender had visited headquarters just before the second heist began, he had gone to see how everyone had faired during the first one. Several of the henchmen were in high spirits, either drinking away, conversing, or doing a card game at the elongated table, while the rest went off to rest in the Sleeping Quarters. Asking if any of them had seen the mob boss, all he got were fingers and thumbs pointing towards the hallway. One of them even piped up, saying that if anyone needed him, he'd be in his office. Turns out, Elymas had found Benicio in the Infirmary instead, snoozing away on the furthest bed from the entrance with the curtain drawn out.

In conclusion, seeing one of his companions in the approximate range of collapse due to overworked fatigue isn't a pleasant thing to imagine, nor witness, no matter how many times it happens.

To relieve the unraveled tension from the air, he adds in: "And, if I remember correctly, I believe you were nearly knackered until you've almost smothered your face in a pillow at Headquarters."

The comment riles a chuckle out of Abel. "I think he may have had done so! Was goin' to his office that mornin' until I heard him snorin' up a storm in the Infirmary. I've found him lookin' like a drunk who's had one too many shot glasses in his system. Almost got pissed when he tried puttin' a bullet in my head as I was rousin' him, but his slurrin' speech and flounderin' about through the place made the rest of my mornin' better!"

Bewilderment overwrites Benicio's face after he almost whiplashes his head towards the angel. "That was ya, Halo Head?! I could've blown ya head right off ya shoulders for doin' that!" He wasn't, at all, mad at Abel. In fact, a mixture of crestfallen dread and concern washes over him like a tidal wave and it hits him straight at chest level. He couldn't help being a frequent light sleeper when you're a distinguished mob boss.

All he could remember was: One second, he's having to bear with bleary eyes and drowsiness stuffed into his head. Then, on the next one, he was thinking about getting killed by someone from a different mafia party upon seeing a hazed figure leaning over him with one hand stretched out, looking as if they wanted to grab him. Muscle memory assisted him in swiftly extracting his secondary gun and, before either of them knew it, the end of the barrel was pointed at the other's suppose head until his vision cleared up and his head lost the packed cotton.

"But, ye didn't, Horn Head..." Abel's smirk is minute as he reassures the demon, sweeping his hands out - perhaps a little too dramatically - when gesturing to himself. "I'm still here, ink 'n all!" A short chuckle - this time, a lighter one that can push away clouds in an instant.

Very much pacified by the angel's answer, the mob boss's body sags from its short-lived tenseness.

A small frown shows up next to replace the friendly appearance. "Anyway, on a more serious note…" Abel gives a glare that traipsed on cautionary's rope. The concern behind it, however, still broke through it. "I do mean it, Bossman. Absolutely mean it. Yer buffoonery can only be held back so much 'til it all crumbles apart. When that day comes, one of us's gonna go down and won't come back up again."

Despite wanting to say something light-heartedly, Benicio keeps Abel's reprimanding words as a mental note. "Aw, are ya startin' to go soft on me now, Angel Face…?" The teasing and simpering glint in the boss's eye and the tone he spoke in got the angel squinting at him. As to emphasize it, he light-heartedly shoves a palm against the angel's right shoulder while chuckling bemusingly towards Abel's admonishment.

Abel scoffs. "Keep dreamin' that and it may come true for ye." Was what the demon gets in return.

They both chuckle at their own silly displays of bantering and open-mindedness, distilling the serious ambiance within the air.

The demon's pie-cut eyes and smile then drop their hold on their nonchalant cheekiness and shifts them over to a fond sincerity. "Y'know I can take care of myself. No need to have any mother hens on me at all times." As an afterthought, he adds in: "Besides, I'm a mafia boss! Danger's my middle name!"

"I thought it was -"

A swift hand shoves itself over Abel's mouth before he can go on speaking.

"L-Let's just start celebratin' a lil' now, alright, Angel Face?" Although Benicio shows a toothy smirk, the tentative nervousness through his chastising glare and tone says otherwise. Sweeping the expression away, the mafia head puts on a chipper one when he swivels his sights between the crow and demon bartender. "Gizmo? Elymas? Ya both in?"

He gets another nod from Gizmo, but a shake from the barman.

Shrugging, he raises the shot glass to the air and exclaims, "Then, drinks're on me, men!"

And celebrate, they did.