So, The Admittedly Pointless Wine Cellar Of My Endless Despair: Long story short, Demonic Casey and her as-yet-unnamed companion had little to do with Elizabethville's slide into iniquity. Nope, she just had lunch with Mr. Trotter one day and too-innocently noted that he could turn his personal finances around by opening "a few businesses that cater to harmless vice," and the entirely human Trotter took care of the rest. Soon enough, the previously God-fearing streets of Elizabethville were running with booze and corruption, and then Demonic Casey starts babbling about how weak-willed and backsliding the human race is, and Raoul's already snoring away in his overstuffed armchair, and I'm about to be hurled into what has to be my fifteenth COMA of BOREDOM this season, and...
...Darling Sammy's rapping on Casey's apartment door. Of course, it swings open, so he lets himself in to snoop around. He finds a pile of yellow crap on an end table, sticks his fingers into it, and realizes it's sulphur. DUN! NOT! BECAUSE WE ALREADY KNOW SHE'S A DEMON, SO WHATEVER! "Would you please?! I'm trying to sleep over here!" Ooops. Sorry!
The Admittedly Pointless Wine Cellar Of My Endless Despair And BOREDOM. And while I was typing that out, they debated the wars of the twentieth century and the veracity of the Bible. Next!
Bar. Sam leaves a rushed plea for help on Bobby's voice mail, then assaults the long-suffering bartender again for more information. The long-suffering bartender most disdainfully and awesomely addresses Mr. Pissypants Bitchface here as "Princess" while telling him to go to hell, and Sam gets his tremendous panties in a wad for a moment before spotting Father Sneaky lounging around in one of the banquettes. Finding no other recourse, Sam tensely marches over to grill the priest on Casey's current whereabouts.
The Admittedly Pointless Wine Cellar Of My Endless Despair And BOREDOM And DOOM. Demonic Casey's a faithful lass, don't you know, only her higher power is Lucifer, whom no demon has actually met, but many believe in nevertheless, and we're back to debating the goddamned nature of goddamned faith, and where the hell is the gore? WHERE THE HELL IS THE GORE? "QUIET, you silly little man!" I ignore Raoul to note that by the way and incidentally, Demonic Casey also subscribes to Hell's newsletter, and so knows all about Dean's Crossroads Demonette dilemma. Next!