Barrier Gate Station West Wing Pub, The Lone Drunkard

[Osilon]

The gentle tapping of shoes signalled the entry of a new patron. He dusted his hands, seeming a little displeased at the bright lighting. His suit was a perfect white, impeccable despite the fact he obviously flew there. He held in his hand a perfect red rose, and he looked at the figure spinning the knife in her hand, and smiled at her, never showing his teeth.
Walking past the current patrons of the bar, he walked up and ordered a simple glass of water- earning him an odd look from quite a few of the more alcohol-prefering bargoers, and took a seat at one of the tables by himself, setting the rose delicately down beside him.

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A million dollars isn't cool. You know what is cool? A basilisk.