Johan was in kind of a bad mood. Ok, ok, the previous statement would be considered an understatement by almost all the Quincy operating under the Vatican. Johan was always in a bad mood. Always yelling, always correcting, always with that slightly annoyed and disappointed gaze, like that of a strict Asian father who saw his child mess up 1 note at their piano recital which they did WHILE doing math problems, on stage. Mans needed to relax, slide that giant stick out of his ass, and let loose.

Stepping into a bar that was pretty well hidden, it was one of those supernatural places that only those [i]in the know[/] ever could find, and made ab eeline for the person he was looking for. With an expression like he just stepped in your dog's shit with his designer shoes and was considering snapping the thing's neck then and there, Johan roughly grabbed Shane by the shoulder and spoke in a low voice, his german accent highlighting the gutteral nature of his first language. "Herr Wolfe, I trust you are sitting at zis bar because all of your vork is complete, and not goofing off again, hmmm?"

Moving his arm so as not to spill his precious mead, the white-haired Norwegian turned and smiled playfully at his erstwhile German companion, his own accented voice cutting through the usual commotion at the bar. "Johan, min friend! Trust me, everyone 'o needed to be dead is dead. Can I get you a drink?"

Leaning back in his seat and shoving a drunk out of the one next to him, the Echt Quincy would brush off the typical vestments of a Catholic priest and lift his glass in a welcoming manner, before taking another drink of the honey-wine, enjoying the flavors of the traditional drink. Little known fact?

Both of the Quincy present liked to drink.

"So, what's your poison today?"

Johan's lips drew into a tight line and Shane's attitude. It was unprofessional, reflected badly on the leadership, and it got under his skin. Of course, as Johan was thinking all this to himself he was sitting down next to Shane in the now-free spot as the drunk started to stand, ready to fight, but looked Johan in the eye and stumbled off as fast as possible. The good doctor was a well known figure in these parts - well known for being an indomitable force should you get in a drunken brawl with him. Johan made a practiced motion with his hand, one he mad several times before. "Eines Berliner Maultier, bitte." The bartender nodded, this was a cocktail that the bar served specifically for him: a Moscow Mule made with Jaegermeister instead of vodka. The bartender mixed it up, setting the dark and frothy beverage reeking of ginger and black licorice which Johan began to gulp down easily. Notably, he glanced over at Shane and began chugging just a little faster. Once done, he plopped the glass down with a sigh and nodded firmly before motioning for another one. "Refill Herr Wolfe's glass as vell, danke."

As Shane finished his glass of mead, he watched his dear Inquisitor slam back one of his specials, then order another. Motioning for the same as the other man, the lean Norwegian archer would take a swig, enjoying the flavors and smirking at Johan. "'Ave you been going through a tørkeperiode? Pounding zem back like that'll get you in trouble!"

Of course, this was said at the same time that Shane finished his own, and motioned for another round. He'd had a few already, and while he knew that his direct superior was a stickler about rules, he got fun when there were drinks, fights, and women involved. Preferably a combination. Thus, it was the Viking-in-Catholic-clothing's solemn duty to get his companion TRASHED.

It was more fun that way!

Johan made a point not to answer until after his third drink. His lips were pursed into a line, but the act was more relaxed this time around, giving him less of a disapproving look and more of a worried one. He sighed and finally seemed to relent a little as he spoke, "Ja, mein Freund. I have been flooded with paperwork lately, and diese...." Johan proceeded to wave his hands with a mixture of exasperation and disgust before continuing, "Youngsters. They are so useless! They can't think for themselves, and their work is awfully sloppy. Having to double and triple check everything... Mein Gott."

Johan let out another exasperated sigh, downing his 4th drink as he appeared to loosen up just a tad. Johan got that look in his eye, the one that made younger Quincies wanna quip with a fat "Ok, boomer," if he wasn't able to shoot someone in the eye from dummy-far away. "Young people these days don't understand the value of organization and protocol... Bah! More, bartender! More!" Aw shit, Johan was getting ready to transform into fun Johan.

Shane waited until after their fifth drink to respond. Whether it was because he was distracted or attempting to articulate something in English was anyone's guess, but it was clear that it was taking a bit of effort to stay on topic. "Ack, don't remind me. The nytt blod are all weak. Their markmanship is sloppy, none of them know how to use a blade worth a faen, and they can't handle their sprit. I swear, min mor would be rolling in her grave. You know what she used to say to me? 'Erik, one of these days, our people will be damned. The gammelt blod will grow thin, and Ragnarok will be upon us.' She was a nightmare to grow up with, but damn if she didn't make a few decent points."

The Echt Quincy continued into his sixth drink before pausing. Fuck. He was getting to the point where his tongue loosened. While he was pretty sure that Johan knew that his birth name wasn't Shane, it was something he tried to keep under wraps, generally. The Volsung family were well known for being one of the oldest families of Quincy, with one of his ancestors being the wife of the First Emperor. One of them, at least. Even before that, they were spiritualy aware and strong, fighting against the various enemies that sprouted up in ancient times.

That said, they were also known for their brutality, and the fact that they definitely weren't Catholic. Finishing his drink, the Apprentice sighed and motioned for another drink. He was in for it, this time.

Not to be outdone, Johan motioned for another drink of his own, making a subtle show with the motions of his hands that his drink be made a double. He, of course, nodded along to what his Acolyte was saying, dropping the occasional acknowledgement of agreement. Johan himself had grown up with some BPE (Big Protagonist Energy) when his father adopted him into the clan. Johan himself was still, in fact, an Echt blood Quincy, so after he was orphaned his father took the boy in and trained him along with his adopted brother, who was a dick. So Johan, after a years-long training montage finally ended up T-Posing on his brother and then joining the Inquisition later down the line, much to his father's dismay.

"It makes me think... I should smack some sense into the youngsters, ja? Foolishly running about, talking about raising the ranks to becoming Inquisitors... Hah! Barely any of them are even CLOSE." Johan slurped down the Double Berlin Mule with relish and energy, his cheeks a bit flushed at this point. "The state of it all... zis could be a problem. The Hollows and Shinigami have been making strange movements, ominous ones. An upheaval is coming, I feel it."

Shane bust out laughing at his mentor's commentary, motioning for another drink, making it a triple. He was Erik Volsung, the scion of kings and gods, and he wasn't going to be outdone by some German Catholic! Guzzling it down and ignoring the fact that the world had become slightly wobbly, he'd look over at Johan and giggle again. "Definitely. Beat the dritt out of the idiots. Hopefully they won't cause any problems. As to the upheaval..."

Ordering another mead so as to slow down a moment and think, Shane closed his eyes and began to sip it in contemplation. "The world is waiting. There is an eerie calm in the air, as if a storm is coming. I can feel it in my blod. Lines are being drawn, and eventually..."

Sighing, Shane's eyes opened, steely and hard, as he held his glass out. "War is upon us, and in the end, the Allfather gets his due. In Odin's name I blot."

Then, the glass tipped in offering, the golden liquid pouring to the ground in a clear declaration.

War was coming.

Johan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, doing his best to center his focus or whatever so he didn't start sliding out of his seat. Johan took a moment himself, ordering a regular ginger beer and sipping on it to level out juuuust a bit. "Now more than ever, we must be prepared for war. Hmmm..." Johan took a deep breath, his gaze seeming to trail off into the distance as he took another moment to steady himself as Shane did his pagan offering thing. Now normally, you'd think that Johan would have popped a cap into such heresy, but frankly, it was all about being a Quincy first. The Shinigami and Hollows and Advanced humans were all heretics though, for sure.

Eyeing his Acolyte, Johan ordered a triple Berlin Mule, the bartender giving the two Quincies wary looks at this point, but you know how the joke about the Norwegian and the German walking into the bar goes... With a dead bartender. Anyways, Johan began sipping on his triple, the spicy lemony goodness washing down his throat.

Finishing his offering and killing off the rest of his mead himself, Shane eyed his Inquisitor curiously and tapped the bar four times, making the bartender look at him like he was crazy, before shaking his head and pouring him a quadruple Kraken and Coke. The black rum blended extremely well with the cola, making the entire thing smooth and tasting vaguely like chocolate. That being said, he began to drink it back with a smirk, the alcohol starting to take him AWAY. "Ya know, Johan, sometimes I vonder...Dritt. I can't even think straight. Should we start a fight?"