Malcolm was doing some reconnaissance. He had learned Alan-a-Dale sometimes played at this pub, and he wanted to see how easy it would to snatch Alan here before or after a set. He had his tranq darts ready to go, and the cells were sitting there, empty. If this turned out to be an easy place to work with, Alan might end up in his cells very, very soon.
He had hung near the back, sticking to soda water, trying to blend in. He hadn't expected someone else to speak to him, but then he hadn't expected another immortal either. It was frustrating, but he pushed that aside. Had to seem calm and easy going. Not a threat to anyone here.
He raised his glass back, his lips curled up in an answering smile. "Reminds me of home," he said, instead of 'no, I hate this shite' even though that would also be true.