A dark crevice at the bar's edge shifted unexpectedly, as if like an egg hatching it cracked open slowly.
Ross pulled himself out and slunk back towards the nearby barstool, dreary-eyed and lethargic as if he'd awoken from a long cryo-nap.
"Rooooiiiighhty....."
His voice crackled and slowly smoothed into its normal grungey self.
"You lot. Yeah, you lot," he almost drunkenly mumbled to himself;
"You lot are a lot o' fat lazy nits lyin' aboot loike t'is." He seemed disgruntled and still dozy, yet certainly not his angry self.
"oI ain't seen hoide er hair o' yew oot in t'e fields, an' what've oI gotta do t'ese days ey? Amuse me bloody self!"
His drink slips from the bar and smashes to the floor. He glances down on it with his drooping facial expression and looks back up, his focus loose, and continues unfazed.
"oI ain't 'ad barely anyt'in' tah do whoile t'ose Free bloody Tradin' buggers ar'runnin' 'round bloody strippin' oor fields, and t'en t'ey put me in bloody charge o' you lot!"
He looks down, suddenly saddened and sobbing slightly:
"oI ain't even been oot wit' Geoffy in sooch a long toime... oI miss the bloighter, even 'f 'e were a sloimy basterd..."
"Well t'en." He straightens himself and is back to more himself, seemingly resolute.
"S'pose oI'll 'ave tah be startin' tah droive you lot oot tah work too!"
"An' dannae get me wrong, som'a yerselves 'ave been making good work, good examples. An' soon, we'll even 'ave t'is new Kings Cross t'ing t'ose lasses 'ave been workin' wit' in Bowex..."
His eyes suddenly glisten.
"WE'LL BE SELLIN' ORE 'ROUND T'E CLOCK AN' oI DANNAE EVEN 'AVE TAH BE OOT SELLIN' TAH THE BLOIGHTERS!"
Ian's ecstatic face remains, almost picturesque and as bright as the spark in his eye as he turns around and continues scribbling on napkins, furious with enthusiasm.
One face in the bar looks up from a table, toward him as he turns, noticing something may just have happened.