The smooth jazz music in the background filtered in Jake's mind as he stepped through the front doors. The bar's dim lighting of warm orange, yellow, and red doing wonders in setting the mood. The place almost felt a little too high-end for a local 'hole-in-the-wall' pub, its decor was no joke. Its red leather sofas for booths, quiet atmosphere, and a bottle wall that extended to the ceiling was nothing short of impressive.

Jake would be lying if he said he wasn't a bit intrigued, and glad to have caved into listening the drunken patrons ramblings about this place. Mood and atmosphere alone, Jake would have to consider becoming a regular. He was mostly interested in the revered bartender of this establishment too. A complete 'mixing-whizz' behind the bar, said his clients. He wasn't one to listen to the senseless words of drunkards, but if a bartender is complimented for their skill by people under the influence, then his attention has been hooked and caught.

He walked over to the bar, his shoes clacking against the wooden floor in a rhythmic pace as he approached the figure who stood behind the counter.

They were tending to a patron's drink, a shaker in their hands, when they glanced over to Jake as he took a seat several stools away from where they stood. He gave them a brief nod to signal them over once they were finished with mixing up whatever drink they were working on. As he waited, he did a once over at their technique. He's seen plenty of bartenders in his life, he's well aware of what an experienced one looks like. And damn, this one was checking off all his tick-boxes of expectations. They were smooth and precise with their motions, not overly dramatic but mesmerising enough to warrant people's attention, and they easily faded into the background of the bar.

The mixed drink, that was served to the patron in waiting, looked really good. He knows a well-made drink when he sees one. He smiled casually at the bartender as they began to walk to him as they wiped down a rock-glass with their tea towel.