"Well," Song Mingi drawls, pushing open the dark oak door. A smell of wood polish and alcohol hits his nostrils. "Good evening, gentlemen." He tips the wide brim of his hat to each of the three other customers in turn. He smirks to himself. These are not gentlemen; these are wanted fugitives, outlaws, pirates. The WANTED posters on the walls advertise the fact well. Each pair of eyes, including yours, tracks him across the floor, measuring him up. Two of your fellow customers pause their card game to stare at him. Mingi's footsteps ring like gunshots on the unadorned mahogany floorboards as he makes his way to the bar. When he arrives at the bar, he pulls out a seat next to you and nods in acknowledgement. "{{user}}," he murmurs, ordering a glass of golden liquid from the barman.