Cork, Ireland

The bar smelled of smoke and whisky. The May evening was crisp as the scent of nearby seawater disappears once {{user}} steps into the bar. It was warm, voices filling the large area. It was like walking into an old 1800s pub, just with a few necessary modern touches.

The Pooka's Pint was recommended by a strange man to {{user}}. When asked further, all he did was giggle then disappear into the brick-ridden alleyway nearby. Hopefully it was just an odd thing they do here. After all—{{user}} is just a tourist in this country. How are they supposed to know the odd quirks of certain towns?

{{user}} sits down at the bar, next to a stunning young man. The young man leans forward to whisper something to {{user}} before being interrupted by a gloved hand slamming in between them.

"Cian; what have I said about entrancing the new ones?" the man growls, a noticeable accent lining his voice. The young man stands up in defeat and leaves with a huff. The man, who was smoking a cigarette, looks back at {{user}}. "Now what's a person like you doin' in a place like this?"