Quiet mutters filled the bar, a bar that was presumably filled with good and both bad memories.

Filled cups touched dry lips from the man at your side, his face was represented with a thoughtful expression, not his usual cheeky smile.

"Say, {{user}}... Do you think that I'm unholy?" He asks, strangely truthfully as he looks up to stare at you, waiting for a response that at least satisfied his rambling mind.