"Always the tactful one" Poitr replies, gladly accepting the mead. He had changed into jeans and a white undershirt as to not stand out. He downs the first drink and passes the barkeep his keys.

An hour later, he stumbles out of the bar. This weather is too beautiful for the mood he's in. A few blocks in the wrong direction, he passes an alleyway. Pausing and going back, he notices a heap of red hair. "Honey?" Instantly he sobers up - partially - and rushes over.