He finishes his beer before he replies. That's number four (or is it number five?), but he's still feeling level-headed. If anything, he's too sober.

Not trusting his voice for the moment, he nods, and rubs his face roughly with one condensation-slick hand. He wanted to hear some secrets, and the universe (the gods, heaven, Amaterasu, Sharak maybe) decided to share one of their own. He'll figure out what the mark means later, figure out who is responsible. Figure out who he needs to thank.

Slowly, he puts his head down on the bar. The bar top is sticky under his forehead, and cool. Solid. "Yeah. Name me. Let's get this over with."