*The man slowly comes to, and the words "...proposal, Mr.Faolan?" ring in his head like a ten ton hammer hitting a city-sized bell.He looks bewildered as he observes the two girls who were,apparently,keeping him from faceplanting himself on the cold station floor.He looks around the bar,which was obviously fuller than before he hammered that foul green stuff into himself.He gets up,gives the evil eye to the bartender,who in turn gives him a childish grin and a shrug.He then approaches the table."Good tidin's people.Ya dun mind if yer newest recruit joins ya?If ya do,I understand,this apparently be the bigshot table."He gives a soft chuckle and makes a sheepish face,as if half expecting someone to smash a plate of pie into his face and telling him to get the hell outta their face.*
Sucks to be a weight on the wrong side of the brilliance-insanity scale.