He is a cowboy, right? A natural-born leader, at least he thinks so, maybe. He can't remember. Can't weather your horseshit. Coffee preference: Gas station.
Maggie surrenders her everyday life and embarks on a journey of evil-fighting with two goofs in a stolen van. Misses her cat. Coffee preference: Anything but gas station coffee.
A little man filled with childlike wonder and also candy. Or maybe he's not a little man at all. Coffee preference: Large; thirteen sugar packets.
An old man trying to get back home with the help of generally unhelpful people. Coffee preference: Black; fangs through to-go lid.
A road-weary rental Econoline with a secret. Shhhh! Don't tell! Coffee preference: Whatever fits in the cupholders.
Demons, driven by a pure evil from deep within. Otherwise, generally affable and fun to be around. Brittle. Coffee preference: burnt.
Hunters of the nefarious blood-takers who prey upon the night. They've got their stakes sharpened and their Ford Festiva all gassed up. Coffee preference: tea.
Hell-bent on the spreading of evil, the Chief commands the very firemen who twisted him into his... I dunno. Whatever. He's a bad dude. Coffee preference: Just give him the fucking mug and get out.