Magnus was the exact of Mercy in their taste of bars. He thoroughly enjoyed crowded bars on Saturday nights. It gave him an opportunity to chat with others like friends, which he was sorely lacking. It was also quite likely he could find a pretty man or woman to flirt with and perhaps mess around with as well. He didn't mind the subpar drinks here; Magnus actually hated the taste of alcohol, never really finding one that he actually liked, just a few he hated less. But the feeling of being drunk was something that intrigued Magnus. He had less control over his body and actions, the exact opposite of what he had trained to do. It was almost humorous, the juxtaposition. He couldn't explain it to anyone else, because he couldn't exactly tell the other patrons he was a hitman for a living, and his colleagues would certainly not share his thoughts.
Magnus was a bit of an odd duck, taking things so lightly. Of course, no one knew for sure whether he did, deep deep down. But Magnus had always been great at putting his negative emotions in a little compartment where no one else could see them. At any rate, he was a particularly happy drunk, not too rowdy but also always in good spirits, even more so than normal. He laughed at even the worst of jokes and danced even though he knew he was a terrible dancer. Drunk Magnus didn't give a shit. But then again, sober Magnus rarely did either.
However, he wasn't drunk tonight. Maybe tipsy at most. His tolerance for alcohol was fairly high, and he didn't get drunk often. He had made sure he could still fight drunk if the need came to it, never passing the threshold of that ability. He may laugh most things off, but Magnus wasn't intent on dying anytime soon. There was a reason he was a good assassin.
He laughed at a joke one of the women at his table made, snapping back to reality and looking around at the small group that had amassed. He didn't even know half of their names. It was one of the good things about bars; he could pretend that he had friends. He wasn't entirely bothered by not having any real friends, but this socialization felt good. It was like he was a normal man. Tonight, however, his heart wasn't entirely in it. The bags beneath his eyes had gotten worse recently, and he didn't care enough to use makeup to make them disappear. He owed a small amount of the stuff, both for personal and professional reasons; makeup could transform one's face, he had found, though he hardly thought he was the first person to come to that realization.
As he scanned the bar, he noticed a blonde woman at a nearby table sitting all by herself. The noise seemed to bother her a bit, looking a bit dispirited compared to the small group Magnus was sitting with. And she was looking right at him. Her gaze looked sharper than most, clearer despite the glass in front of her. Interesting. Magnus excused himself from his small circle, a few of them looking disappointed but not overly so. They would likely forget about him soon enough, too entranced in the magic of alcohol and good company. Well, good-ish. These people were alright, but hardly the best company Magnus had had.
He walked over to the table with the lone woman, giving her a small smile that likely looked like a smirk. Most of his smiles looked like smirks, whether intentional or not. "May I join you?" he asked politely, not sitting down until she responded. Accosting women at bars was hardly something he enjoyed, and quite honestly, something that annoyed the hell out of him. If he was going to speak to women, it was because they wanted to talk to him.