As you sit on the bar by yourself, a low-pitched, sluggish voice speaks to you, as the owner of it lounges next to you. Newest recruit, eh? Bah, sorry for not bein' so surprised... I guess I should be considerin' how boring things have been. Heh, the name's Do-... nah, just call me Zib. Upon closer look, the feline is wearing a suit of passionate red, unbuttoned and a little disheveled. His fur pattern looks like a caracal. He smells like tabacco. He stretches his hand out.