John would say he isn't near his limit but he's a functional alcoholic at the best of times. Least he owns it. It might be murder in the morning or whatever this bloody place wants to call it now, but at least there's some good times to be had before cold reality sets back in.

Bastards is muttered under his breath at the group that interrupted as he's left clutching empty air when the other man starts off down the sidewalk. It takes him a moment for his head to catch up. Slow on the draw. He notes the sign and doesn't know what it means. If anything he's more familiar with any BSL and that's dodgy at best. An old fling.

His feet catch up with the rest of him and he's moving, swaying into step next to the other man as he goes. He points up towards where they are headed.

"Starling Lane is where we're headed, chief."