If asked, John would say he was in a pretty good mood himself; other than sharing a body with a depressed woman, seeing his bedmate killed by a vampire, and watching his ex-lover parade around inside jailbait...
Alright, so things were kind of shit. But everything looked better through Guinness colored goggles, right? And beer was one thing a relatively-attractive woman never had a hard time getting ahold of. Lucky John.
Still living under the punk's theory that punctuality was for wankers, John waltzed into the bar a good half hour late, looking around the crowd for his 'date'. In his defense, there were a lot of celebrations going on in the street, drinking, fireworks. And if there was one thing that endeared 'the Colonies' to John, it was the Fourth of July. Alcoholism and blowing shit up. He could be alright with that.
Spotting his mark, John ambled over, a not-quite-feminine walk making it obvious it wasn't actually a woman in control. "Sorry 'bout that, mate. S'like a bloody war zone, outside, d'you know?" The accent was straight Cockney, almost comical coming from a woman with violet hair. But that was the hand John was dealt, and by Something, he made the most of it.