Leif & OPEN
The Dockyard reminded him of one of the little hole-in-the-wall places in Whitehall he used to frequent when he'd been bummed around the British Isles in ... when was that? 1880s, most likely. It didn't matter much. What did, was that he rather liked the place. It was busy, and as dirty as Cressida had warned, but was warm, lived-in and local.
Several rounds back, Leif had picked the first glass of Jack Daniels and tipped it back at Micah with a cocky smirk before downing it, but had since moved on to a Dalwhinnie scotch that smelled a lot less like turpentine. He didn't expect to be outdone but his human form was not his strongest, and it certainly wasn't impervious to the effects of alcohol. If he was going to make a mess of himself, he was going to do so drinking something he liked.
At her insistence, he'd recently taken to trying to teach an old English sea shanty to a bartender in exchange for a plate of grilled chicken nachos that had been ordered up accidentally, and was now doomed to sit and get cold behind the bar. It seemed like it might make a good intermission between rounds for the teaching staff. The bartender was obviously flirting, but the dragon was either completely oblivious to the more subtle intricacies of human behavior, didn't care, or was playing at something else entirely.