Jo leaned heavily against the sticky bar as she waited for her whiskey. The day, like most days lately, had been torturously long and boring. She knew rushing home to help Mars wasn't going to result in her happiness, but she hadn't thought the only help Mars would need would be in the shop. Between the dusting of already dusted antiques and the lack of interaction Jo was at her wits end. How Mars — or anyone for that matter — functioned in such an environment was beyond her.

Whiskey in hand, she made to turn back towards her solemn booth in the corner when she saw him. At first, Jo hadn't even thought it was him (why was he dressed like that?!), but then the shouted "Holsten!" echoed around the bar and there could be no mistaking him. Again, her eyes scanned down his form, taking in the perfectly tailored suit and neatly arranged hair, before turning sharply towards her booth. The Holsten she knew wouldn't have kept a secret like that.

The Holsten she knew wasn't flamboyantly wealthy.

What was he doing dressed like that in the Beak anyway? One look around the room proved he was more appropriately dressed for a gentleman's club than the likes of these patrons. Jo took one, then two long sips of her whiskey as she avoided looking in his direction. Let him say something to her, if he felt the need. Let him acknowledge the lies he told her when she was nothing but honest.

Then again, what did he owe her anyway? They were friends — nothing more. They had both been adamant about that fact.