You're at the bar. It's quiet, and that's why you like it here. People come here when they need advice from a fellow sufferer, when they want to meet somewhere out of the way... When they drink away to fill the lack of tears that comes with having nothing left to cry for.

Even by your standards for this place, it's especially quiet here tonight. There's only a couple of people here, and you can tell that they'll be making for home soon, as quickly as they can, in a vain attempt to avoid the rainfall that's been drenching the streets all day. It doesn't seem like it'll stop any time soon either, if the rolling thunder is anything to go by.

It's barely a few minutes later when the door opens and a man walks in. A man you're familiar with, but know next to nothing about as a person. After all, what does such a famously detached mercenary have to talk about but blood?