"Nothing is ever for the food," at least not in Alex's opinion. Not that he indulged in human foods really. Percy seemed to look down on the whole mess, and Alex had been out of practice. That was why the Drum was nice, full of supernatural life that could share in such opinions.
"I find London to be-" he was cut off when the front doors slammed open and a figure all but stumbled into the pub. There was blood a smell of rancid blood about him, the smell of sulfur hanging about him like a death shroud.
Stumbling to the bar he took a seat beside Alex, asking for the strongest spirit, before muttering in jibberish to himself, just below his breath.