The Big Game lodge. It's still fairly early; there's not likely to be too many people in here, but I guess if you're needing to find any of the Menagerie, this is likely a place as anywhere, considering how much the fuckers seem to scatter once they get back to 12th Street.
You head through the door, and the familiar scent of roasting meat hits your nostrils. Greasy, nasty smoke. nice and pleasant.
Silver's behind the bar, yelling through a gap in the wall into the kitchen behind her. It's not a terribly big kitchen, but it's enough to cook up some steaks, especially when the hunters want to eat some of what they killed. It's part of the tradition of the lodge. Mardigras, the cook, is good at cooking bad. That's part of the tradition, too, as is Silver's constant yelling at him.
Upon hearing the door close behind you, Silver turns, and then puts on her standard, well-worn smile.
"Wilson, you're just in time! Mardigras's almost done with a steak! Quality, grade A razordillo, you're gonna love it!"