He'd been doing what he did best lately--lurking and watching and learning about everyone around him. But tonight John had decided to indulge in one of his vices, because the amount of random drama and magical fluctuation in the strangers around him was a bit overwhelming at times, and he didn't like dealing with it completely sober. There were problems he knew he might be able to help people out with, but hesitation to offer even so.
Things usually got more fucked up when he involved himself, and some of these people seemed like good enough people he didn't want to do that.
But this man looked as bored as he did, and seemed to have the same mindset on not wanting to be sober. So John ignored the better part of his judgment--the part where the runes inked into his skin and soul invisible to everyone else flickered at a sense of vague magics--and took a seat in the stool beside him. "I'll have what he's having, but make it a double," he told the bartender. He'd nearly died. Time to start making his liver regret it.