It was rainy again today. Like any good Londoner Hudson ignored it as he made his way down the sidewalk of the rocky cobblestone streets of London. He hunched his shoulders slightly as if the brim of his hat could keep the rain from reaching his coat, a fruitless task if there ever was one. People passed, pushing with grimaces, on their way, as if the rain they refused to acknowledge really was the reason for their foul mood. Hudson ignored them as much as he ignored the rain. He didn’t need their problems, he had enough of his own. What he did need was a good stiff drink. He could spare a few of his precious coin for a good draft of beer, or even firewhiskey with the day he’d had.

The rain had turned into a complete downpour when Hudson made it to the Augery Pub. The dim interior greeted him as he shook off the rain from his coat and removed his hat, swiping at the brim and spraying droplets of water onto the dingy floor. The pub might not look like much, but its warm fire beckoned to Hudson, and it did little to remind him of the Three Broomsticks that alone was enough to make his fondness for such a place grow. He tossed himself onto a bench by the bar and ordered his regular, keeping to himself as the evening crowd made themselves comfortable in the dim rowdy domain of the pub.