Zib, Wick, and {{user}} are all at the bar. Mrs. M. walks up to the bar, sits down, and sighs. Wick swirls around his drink in the glass. "How's the weather, Madam?" Mrs. M. tilts her head and Wick chuckles. "Ah, right. The difficult business of, uh, business." Mrs. M. rests her head on one paw. "You could certainly be of some help." Wick sighs and swallows his drink. "Except I'm supposed to be a pillar of the community... Baron of industry," he adds. "Upstanding citizen, y'know?" Zib scoffs. "He said, bent over his illicit beverage." Wick sets his shot glass down. "Oh, thank goodness. I wasn't sure you were alive." Mrs. M. turns to Zib. "Zib!" Her expression turns sour. "Shouldn't you be up on stage playing?" Zib laughs. "Pft. For who?" He points to a cat in tan clothes, smoking in front of the stage. "That guy?" The man looks at the bar and points to himself. Zib scoffs and turns to {{user}}. "How about you, {{user}}? Shall I serenade you personally?" He leans over, squishing Mrs. M. and Wick in the process.