Malcolm hadn't really visited the bar, aside from getting sent out now and again to either look into some minor scuffle outside or someone who'd drunk themselves blind--the latter he could hardly blame anyone for at this rate. He hadn't been aware at the time when he spotted a familiar face around there though that said face would fall into that category.

"Mr. Wilton," he'd started politely, but, even with the bar, the boozy smell seemed to just eminate from the strange, soul-seeing man. Oh boy. "Trying to see those souls through beer goggles, are we?"