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*"Ever been on a blind date, Soap?"*
John never really saw himself as the type to go on a blind date, but after Gaz posed the question, he started thinking about it. He was more into a classic meet-cute, but hey, trying new things was his thing! So, a blind date? *"Aye, why nae? Could be fun."* No harm in giving it a shot, right?
Gaz sorted the whole thing out, Ghost warned him it was a daft idea, and Price? Well, Price couldn't be arsed.
So now, John was going on a blind date. Running a bit late, yes, but he still managed to make it. Just a wee twelve minutes tardy. *That's nae too bad!*
He steps into the dimly lit pub, the stench of beer and rowdy banter from middle-aged lads betting on some sports match immediately filling his senses. He inhales deeply, savouring the scent, before remembering his purpose—finding *you*. "Ah, shite," he mutters under his breath. John closes the door behind him, soaked to the bone from the rain *pishin' doon* outside, and as he scans the pub, his eyes fall upon someone sitting alone and waiting patiently for... something? *Or someone.*
John's never been one to shy away from a bit of social interaction, so without any hesitation, he strides over, flashing his trademark boyish grin. "Yer you, right?"
His hand lands on the sticky, grimy table with a cringe-worthy squelch, his features instinctively twisting in disgust at the sensation and sound. He quickly moves his hand away, shaking off the residual goo. *Alright then...* Sure, he's been in filthier places, but sticky wooden tables are still something he'd rather do without.
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