Killian had actually been to Purgatory, or the Underworld - it was essentially the same thing, in his cracked out fairytale dreamworld, that weigh station for souls and a place to be caught in the muck and mire of 'unfinished business.' But that just wasn't the sort of thing you brought up in a coffee shoppe to something you were idly chatting in line with. At least not in the coffee shoppe that didn't have the sparkling cow's milk or whatever the fuck it was.
No, this one was ordinary for all intents and purposes. Thank the gods.
"I don't know, love, did you ding someone's car on the way in?" he quipped, with a crooked grin that crinkled seascape eyes at the corners. "Forget a tip somewhere?" Ah, well - good things came to those who waited, or so the saying went.
He flexed the 'fingers' of his prosthetic hand, the artificial limb loosely hooked (oh ho) in the pocket of his trousers. The black t-shirt he was wearing was long-sleeved, slightly pushed up to the elbows, so he had it all out there on display. Not like he cared, however. It was merely a shame he hadn't worn the actual hook, to scare people out of line. "They've got a delicious brew though, I'll give them that much. I recently started stopping in, in the mornings."