<font color=gray> He was wearing the bomber jacket along with a grey beater and a pair of just tight enough that though should be illegal jeans that looked a bit worn. Heavy combat books were on his feet, he wasn't in combat anymore but they were comfortable and what he was used to and he didn't really care about being in fashion. His eyes lifted for just a brief second when the fresh glass was slid in front of him before he tipped his head back and took the rest of the whiskey in the first glass, relishing in the smooth burn as it made it's way down his throat and into his stomach. He didn't bother saying anything to the girl standing in front of him behind the bar - nothing to say and no thanks was necessary, no one ever thanks him for doing his job, why should he thank her for doing hers? </font color> -- RD Present: The Boardwalk

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