After what seemed like an eternity of fearing to swallow as not to cut his own throat on Banger's blade, Swires felt relief like he never thought he could when he was finally released. When he turned to the man and outstretched his hand, his expression sank and he indeed raced to the font on the wall and washed his hands quickly before booting off after Banger. When he reached the bar, he found the man already cracking the bar as if he owned the place, and raised a brow. Something was familiar about the wiry man pouring shots and depositing smoking implements onto the bar- His addled brain took a while to process the whole picture. Round glasses, very old-timey, check. Long white hair AND beard? Check. Green symbols painted on his jacket?
The realization hit Swires almost as hard as he ran into the bar when he rushed to take this opportunity. He sat on a dusty barstool and stared dumbstruck at the man for a few moments. "Now I know assumin' is bad, but I'm thinkin' it's pretty safe to say, you's Banger Grim, aren't you?", he spoke as quietly as possible considering the neo-punk racket they were now surrounded by. "Holy f***n' hell, I knew it. I knew you weren't f***n' made up, and god DAMN am I glad to know that. I gotta say, I hoped I'd get to meet you one day, man. You're like... the ghost of a legend around here, you know that?", he spewed, finally taking a break from speech when Banger handed him a lit kalisti bowl. He took a brave hit and held it in while eyeing a row of shots on the bar surface. With smoke still in his mouth, he downed one of them and then expelled a wad of silvery vapor through his nostrils, watching Banger intently.
Sucks to be a weight on the wrong side of the brilliance-insanity scale.