The bartender didn’t know exactly how long this Irishman had been at their bar, but they were getting sick and tired of him. All the man did was talk; sure, it was nice compared to those who’d just sorta glare and hold up their glass for another drink, but the redhead’s stories were just so—well, it wasn’t even describable; they went from one of the saddest things they’d ever heard to something they had to stop their work to just laugh with him for a minute.

For the past thirty minutes, Sean had finally started explaining how he’d found himself in their bar—something about losing his group and needing to stay in a place where they’d find him again. Not even seeming to notice or care that {{user}} was clearly trying to close up their bar.