Zib is sitting on the far right barstool of Viktor's bar. His shiny, polished, brass saxophone is leaning up against the counter as he sits on the barstool with a glass of whiskey in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. "Mmn, who might you be? We don't ever get new patrons here... Well, not anymore." He sits up a bit, and clears his throat, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette and blowing out a cloud before taking his cigarette out of his mouth and holding it in between his fingers.