(sry4dw8fam)


John dragged the chair out and sank into it as a pretty little barmaid came round with a pint glass and a bottle of the firewhiskey. As if he needed the man's permission to sit down in his own chair. A silvery tendril of titanium snaked its way from the thick plate on his back and down his arm, coating a finger in the metal. Slowly, a corkscrew began to form at the end of his thumb, and he shoved the bottle into it, turning as the man offered his query.

He yanked the cork out, holding the bottle up in response. 'Yurik's Firewhisky' was embossed in the bottle's glass. He poured the pint glass full and leaned back, draining roughly a third of it in one sip. It usually took a little more drink (and coin) to get John drunk.

Just as quickly, the metal retreated, and he pointed the now-bare finger at himself.

"John."

Hopefully his new drinking companion wouldn't be too talkative.