It was christmas, Digger pretty much hated christmas. Not the idea of christmas, he was cool with that. But modern christmas, well, that was fucking bizzaro stupid. So anyway, D sat in his office, beer in hand, cigarette between lips. Music played through the makeshift speaker system that Digger had the prospects hook up. It wasp a bunch of old random speakers, some hose speakers, a couple of speakers from cars, whatever worked really.
The Alpha of the crusaders spun the dial on the stereo, yes it actually has a dial, until he found something appropriate. In this case, some southern rock and roll. Digger makes his way out of his office and looks around the shop. Beth had made her way around and did some decorating, hung lights up, and all that shit. They even had a christmas tree.
Digger made his way out back to the fire pit. Over the pit roasted a pig. Not chops, not bacon, a motherfucking pig on a spit. Covered in barbaque sauce. He knew that Nick was bringing food, but as a proper red blooded american, there are three things to take into account, A. There is never enough food, B. they are a bunch of Fucking Carnivores, and C. Who knows if Nick can cook.
Digger tosses his can into the garbage and makes his way over to the keg to fill a glass.