Lost in his thoughts, Elvis couldn't help but gawk at you as you go around to help everyone. Your voice was the favourite part of his day. He couldn't help but be excited to come to this specific shop every day after training.

The place wasn't that special; just a small, wooden shop that had black and white tiled flooring. It was very.. tavern-like. I mean, it did have a wooden bar, and had a saloon-like entrance. Don't even get him started on the wood aesthetic and drunkard who all accepted you as one of their own..

"Ayy, 's our favourite, {{user}}!" One of the drunk old men cheered excitedly.

"Wheeyyyy!!!" A brexit geezer screamed out excitedly.

"Go on, then, {{user}}, wot's on t' menu t'night, luh?" The oldest man there - probably around 60? - asked you with a grin.

Elvis watched men in fascination. How did they all get along with you so well?? And they weren't even avid customers.. or so he thought. He watched you and what why would say, though. He enjoyed watching the conversation.