It's not that he doesn't like going out and partying and doing all that good stuff, he does, really. It's just not fun when Murdoc forces him to come. He watches as his "boss" bumps into some poor drunk person, effectively drenching their shirt, and he rolls his eyes. Stupid, drunk geezer.

He taps the table he's sitting at, sipping his drink absentmindedly. The club is bright and loud, and usually Stuart would love that, but he isn't feeling it tonight. His gaze briefly catches them, and he doesn't pay much mind to it at first, watching as Murdoc lays it on thick with the person he'd just covered in whiskey, until he realizes that they'd sat down across from him.

Stuart's eyes flick back to them, not that they could tell what with the lack of visible pupils, facing them head on with a sort of confused expression.

"Yea?" Stuart questions, clearly taken off guard. It's not like strangers don't approach him pretty often, sure they do, for pictures and stuff like that, but this person lacks the "vibe" of a superfan. No screaming or crying or begging for an autograph or whatever.

"Did I do somethin' to you?" He goes on to ask. It's his default.