The sight, smell, and sound of falling rain fell upon the mysterious place known as Hive City. Although it was the early evening, the dark, heavy clouds blocked out any trace of the sun, eneveloping the city in gloom. In Murdoc's case, this was the perfect weather for someone like him... if he had an umbrella. This time around, the bassist found himself in the city's so-called "Cultural Sector", walking through the rain with his hands in his pockets and head held down. He cursed under his breath, wishing he had an umbrella or at least a raincoat to cover himself. Unfortunately, his cursing proved fruitless, and Murdoc continued walking through the rain, attempting to seek some temporary shelter.
Of course, the bassist refused to walk into just any establishment, being a man of "higher standards". He scoffed at some of the little shops and restaurants, bitterly refusing to give them any business. And as his hopes of finding a suitable place for shelter seemed to die down, Murdoc eventually stopped at a particular, bricked building. With a sign simply reading "English Pub", the man rolled his eyes at the establishment, figuring it as another cheap attempt to attract people. However, he was running out of options, and Murdoc was starting to feel in the mood for a shot of rum, or two, or three, or four... Reaching a hand for the door, the rain-soaked man stepped inside the pub, immediately being welcomed by warm air and the smell of food.
Surprisingly, the pub wasn't as full as Murdoc thought, and a few patrons were sprinkled here and there. Shaking his body and head like a dog, Murdoc tried to remove some of the rain on him, but it didn't really prove that successful. With a sniffle, he eyed the bar and noticed a few people seated on the stools and the bartender behind the counter - a younger, handsome-looking man. He gave a shrug and settled to sit at the bar, trudging his way through and leaving a trail of water behind him.
Once he was seated, the bassist ignored the other patrons and waved down the bartender. He had a rather disgruntled look on his face (as he usually did), but Murdoc tried his best to be on good behavior, fearful that he'd get thrown out otherwise. Sniffling again, the Satanist gave the bartender a small, toothy smile and ordered a drink.
"Yea, euuuhhh... I'll have a shot o' rum, if I could. 'Don't suppose you have Captain Morgan on you, yea?"
The bartender gave a silent nod and went to fixing Murdoc's drink. Meanwhile, the bassist leaned forward in his seat, drops of water falling from his hair onto the counter top. His eyes shifted around, surveying the interior. The place may not have been exactly what he was hoping for, but it was good enough for what it was, at the very least.
