Another whiskey, another drink, another scowl.

The old man had been moping around for at least a week now, long hair now a short mess and those sharp blue eyes drooped downwards. He'd been like this ever since Jiko... Ever since he had to take Jiko out of the equation, Rojin couldn't even bring himself to utter the name aloud. Once loud praises of the boy he raised turned bitter in the face of the monster he turned into.

So here he is, in the bar closest to the Syndicate's base of operations. He always recommended his members go further out into the city to indulge in unsavory habits, to keep from drawing eyes too close to the Syndicate, but he simply could not be bothered to follow his own advice at the moment. Temperamental and stubborn, downing drink after drink. For all any onlookers knew, he was just another old angry drunk, regretful of helping anyone.