[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@Tlazolteotl][/right]


Morgan watches the peculiar interaction unfold. Nothing they were saying made a lick 'o' sense, just nonsense confidently repeated after another statement of... [i]nonsense![/i] He raises an eyebrow at the scene, takes a minute or two to even try to understand what the hell the bartender said to him earlier, and presses his lips into a hard line.

[color=brown]"Right, I,"[/color] he clears his throat, [color=brown]"I'll go check that third drawer."[/color]

He wasn't planning on deciphering whatever code they were speaking in to get a few shots. He scans the venue, specifically whatever was to the left of him, looks over the bar counter to see whatever array of drinks and cabinets were behind the bartender, and squints his eyes. Check the hinges, check the hinges--what the hell did that even [i]mean?[/i] He looks over just about every drawer he can find nearby at the bar. Was it supposed to hold some kind of key or secret way out? Was it just a drink as his previous talk with the barkeep implied?

[color=brown]"Whatever I find in this drawer, am I just 'posed to pour the damn thing myself? And pardon my language, I'm..."[/color] he pauses for a moment, trying to hide his frustration behind a clean set of words. [color=brown]"I'm new here, y'see. I ain't all that familiar with how this place 'o' yours is ran exactly."[/color]

An epiphany crosses his mind, though likely irrelevant to the bartender. The mute man's catharsis--he's only person unable to speak. Seemed more sensible from his gestures, compared to the odd jargon the people spoke. Of what importance this had, though, was lost on Morgan's mind. Perhaps the man's catharsis had to do with isolation? Abandonment? Some kind of messed up representation of his 'subconscious' or whatever the hell his old psychology friend called it?

Morgan flicks his gaze back to the bartender, brows furrowed. Did these people look like anyone specific? Important?