[Gilbert hasn't a clue of who or what he's looking for, but if this Strider guy is in the same mental state as he is, or worse, he can guess the guy'd be as close to the bottles as he possible. When he enters though, he doesn't see anyone sitting at the bar. His eyes skirt over the taps and he decides there is hope yet--there are familiar beer brands here and fuck yes, they aren't Bavarian.
He orders a litre of Warsteiner and a chaser, then glances around the bar. There aren't too many people, and most of the patrons are drinking beer. Apparently it's too early for some people to drink harder stuff. Shame.
But look, there is a guy with a shot of something.]
no subject
He orders a litre of Warsteiner and a chaser, then glances around the bar. There aren't too many people, and most of the patrons are drinking beer. Apparently it's too early for some people to drink harder stuff. Shame.
But look, there is a guy with a shot of something.]
Are you Herr Strider?