[After Game 6]

Always easy targets, these dives. Plenty of girls out for a good time (and the occasional guy — Shawn wasn't too picky). Even better when he didn't have to worry about keeping his head. Buy someone a couple drinks, get 'em in a quiet corner... let 'em swoon and sleep it off. Easy as pie.

He'd gotten the message from Palmer just as he'd been laying the charm down, but it would still take her some time to get to the place. Shawn scanned the room as he emerged from behind the curtain of the busted photo booth, licking the last bit of blood from his lips. No Palmer yet.

"Neat whiskey," he prompted the bartender as he claimed a stool, counting out enough bills to cover the cost. It'd cost him a bit of his more 'personal' resources to drink, and he wouldn't relish puking it up later... but it'd give him a reason to stick around. And, yeah. Sometimes, it was nice to taste something other than blood.

[After Game 6]

A couple nights after the whole angel incident — once most of the initial panic dies down — Shawn turns up at Helen's brothel. He's alone: no Jeffs, no Dani, no Buck. Alone, and a little unsteady on his feet. Sauntering in like he's definitely not here on official business.

"Ladies," he greets the girls who are lounging around in the common area. Then, a sideways afterthought to the men: "...gents."