[Well, it's that time again. Time for someone to go to Acumen's dance club, and get themselves completely drunk and depressed. In this case, the culprit is Ibram Gaunt. He's just sitting in a booth, slowly working from buzzed to utterly pickled. Gaunt looks readily approachable, if a bit morose. There is already a single emptied bottle sitting in front of him, and he's paging through a book, squinting at the pages with his cybernetic eyes, as though trying to squint away the alcohol-caused blur from the pages. There are several clean glasses sitting by, as if he expects one person to stop by, and is readily prepared for more.]