Through a small cloud of people racing around behind the counter, Luciel resided in the back, hanging up his coat to leave himself in the white undershirt with rolled up sleeves. The hint of a kevlar vest poked out of the black suit vest which his tie tucked into, little else to expect from a manager of The Hole. He looked one way and then the other, registering that he had been left alone with the tapping customer. "Oi...it'll beh?" Luciel asked in Ansel's usual disinterested tone before noticing the flatscreen with only a single raised eyebrow.

[color=bc8dbf]My hands were occupied with drying out John's glass that I had finished for him, cleaning it first, of course. The impatience of the...raptor...huh, not many of them to see, recently. Scavenger types; Taralna curse the hole that what junk was pried from, but it wasn't my call. [i]Sacha[/i] would want a look at it, and I had no place in taking it off the creature's hands...he'd have to hold onto it and hope he was coherent enough to hold onto it.
[/color]

"Ah yeh, th'telle. Sacha-" Luciel began with a shrug before setting the glass down, "-would be happeh to know someone brot' 'im anything"
He chuckled before tossing the towel over a railing behind the bar and pushing up their glasses until they glinted in the poor light from above the counter. "Well, 'es not here. Moit hafta wait, but y'not here f'the news~!" the jackalope playfully chirped, having lost sight in favor of the joke he began earlier in the day. "Y'poison, sir?" he chirped, the mild hint of a smile marring what was otherwise a calculating glare from sharp eyes.
His nametag read 'Ansel', pinned to the apron which was imaginably arduous to wrestle over their antlers. The font was in a gothic cursive which made it slightly difficult to read, but none the less.

[@Mega Birb]