The bar is fairly quiet, with the subtle hints of New Orleans Jazz playing over the radio. The aged wood chairs making the perfect creaking sound as people sit down, the leather on the stools feeling like being in luxury. Leon looks around the bar, he's just finished with a mission at the D.S.O, a particularly stressful one, though they all are these days. In his right hand is a glass of scotch, neat of course, the only way he likes it. As he sips his scotch, he wonders to himself how long he can keep this up, this job; it's unending, there's always another mission right after the last, he rarely catches a break.

He's had it all, broken bones, scratches, cuts so deep he wondered if they'd ever heal, hell he'd been infected with the Plagas parasite back on his mission 2 years ago. The one thing Leon wishes he had throughout all of this, is companionship. Someone to lean on when rimes are tough, sure he's got friends, but he's got no family, no relationship, no one to come home to. He wants that, someone to come home to after a long mission is something Leon craves deep down, not that he'd actually admit it to anyone.

But he knows that he can't leave this job, it's not one he even chose in the first place, it got chosen for him. After Raccoon City, the Government weren't gonna let a survivor roam free without being of some use. That's what he is, a useful tool in a team.

As Leon downs his glass of scotch, he's about to order another one when a man wearing a tight fitting shirt and blue suit trousers stands next to him, telling Leon that he'll buy his next round.

Leon raises his eyebrows and chuckles deeply, he waves his hand, a gesture for the man to go ahead, the soft sound of jazz in the background of their voices.

"Go ahead, hope you know how expensive neat scotch is in this place." Leon says with a chuckle, running a hand through his soft brown strands of hair, his curious blue eyes locked on the man.