Jack kept that up for about a dozen times. The bartender gazed awkwardly at him every minute with a sort of stunned incredulity, and Jack just wouldn't stop. As he downed the mugs of beer, a thousand evanescent memories hit him, but the one that stuck was his ordeal with the devil. The devil thought he was smart, but he outsmarted him. He made the devil drink with him before he took him to hell. The devil, foolish enough, accepted and drank with him. If Jack could remember clearly, he drank the more, seeing the devil as weak and not man enough to drink like him. And when it was time to pay up for the drinks, which he never liked doing, he tricked the devil. He made him turn himself into a coin, so they'd use to pay for the drinks. Told him, after they'd paid, he'd transform back, and they'd be on their way. Well, he lied. Because as soon as the devil agreed to transform, and he did, Jack stuffed the coin into his pocket, which already had a crucifix in it. He could still hear his evil laugh in his ears as he celebrated for doing what most men had struggled to do. Tricking the devil. And at the end of his short-lived victory, he made the devil agree not to take him to hell, in exchange for lifting the crucifix off him. And then it dawned on him, as something similar looked like it was about to happen as he pulled away what seemed to be the fifteenth cup of beer.

His eyes glowed even more, and they were aimed at the bartender. The bartender didn't look too spooked. Although he'd seen a lot of costumes that night. From Dracula, to ogres, trolls, dragons, and even werewolves. Jack's was no different. It only looked more realistic, was all. And now that it seemed Jack had enough to drink, as he hadn't emptied the cup yet, leaving it halfway, the bartender wondered when and how Jack would pay. Was it soon, and was he offering cash or credit card. It was like they were both thinking the same thing as they looked at each other.

Another customer came into view and interrupted the stare. He ordered a bottle of beer, and the bartender went to fetch it. The customer was a middle-aged, redhead, and with the way he glanced at Jack, he looked like the one who wouldn't put up a fight. A swiftly unrolling panorama of thoughts hit him, and he had an idea. Jack pointed behind the customer's head, and he turned to look. And then quickly Jack fell on him like he lost his balance. His arms rested on his body, and the customer tried to shove the drunken old freak off of him. That moment was the perfect crime of clumsiness, and Jack soon snapped out of it. The customer cussed heavily, as Jack got off him, with the bartender now back with his drink. Jack reeled back, raising his hand in a way of defense and apology. Though he seemed like a nimble-witted opponent, Jack wasn’t interested in starting any trouble. The customer shook his body, allowing his anger to simmer down. Took him a few seconds of eye-glaring steadied breath, and he decided to let it slide. He looked at the bartender, and collected his bottle of beer.

"I'm still around." The man said, and spat on the ground. He gave Jack one last glare, and went back to a table, that Jack assumed he was seated before. He looked like a regular, that was why the bartender was okay with what he just said.

"Uh, sir." Jack dragged his gaze away from the fairly crowded tables and onto the bartender.

"Cash or credit card?" The bartender asked, obviously tired of seeing Jack's creepy pumpkin face.

Jack wasn't familiar with what the bartender just said, but he could have sworn he had heard this before. It sounded very familiar. Well, not from his time, but the later centuries. They'd already found other ways to call money, apparently. That and he was supposed to pay for what he'd just consumed. And then he looked down at his hand, from a point where even the bartender couldn't see, and where the other customers at the far ends of the counter couldn't notice. And he pulled out what seemed to be a small leather wrapper. He'd laid eyes on it lots of times, but he'd never thought he'd get to lay hands on it, until today. He opened it up, and inside the wallet, laid a couple of dollar notes. He glanced at the bartender, and back at the stolen wallet, and offered him two fifty dollar notes. The bartender was at first hesitant, what Jack offered him was more than what he'd just drank. But seeing that Jack insisted, and was most likely drunk, the bartender took it, and stuffed it into the cash register. He wasn't looking to give Jack his balance, and Jack wasn't expecting it. What just happened felt quite strange to him. For the first time, in a long time, Jack actually paid for his drink. With stolen money, of course. Thanks to the customer who came to order a bottle of beer in the nick of time. Jack downed the last of the beer in his cup, grabbed his lamp beside him, and got off the stool, on his way out of the bar. His gaze met with the redhead whom he stole from, and he only ended up releasing a short smirk. By the time he would notice his wallet was gone, it would have been too late. And with that, Jack let go of the bar's door, letting it swing to balance behind him.

He was back to the streets of New Orleans again, and this time he was thinking of where to go next. He'd drunk to his satisfaction, even though he’s mostly bound to return. The pub had always been his favorite spot, so a revisit was very probable. But above all, he had to lay down and rest. He wasn't feeling too drunk, and everything around him didn't look too different from earlier, only quieter, as fewer people went by. He cast his glowing eyes onto the roads, and he could mentally see the trail he left behind. He took a heavy breath, and with his lamp positioned to light his way as usual, he looked to retrace his steps, back to where it all began.