It's certainly a.... boisterous hallucination. Ritchie pushes open the door tentatively despite all the ruckus he can detect from the outside. There is no lull in the activity, so he decides to slip up to the bar as quietly as he can. He's small and wiry which makes weaving around the barbarians quite easy. It's warmer than the chill night air and with so many people around he's likely to get some kind of answers.

After all, bars all across the board should be the same, right?

"Whiskey double."

An axe sails across the room and embeds itself in the wall. He stares at it momentarily. ...Hey, he's lived through the English punk scene of the 1980s as an American tourist.

He's seen worse.

"...and I'll be chasing that one down with another. Two please."