John has been drinking a little while now, his coat on the back of his chair as the moonshine makes his limbs feel warm and loose. He doesn't even notice her pass him to sit at the end of the bar, a seat between them. When he turns to pour another finger of the jar Kira left him, that's when he sees her out of the corner of his eye. Confusion moves into bemusement, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as his hazy gaze slowly rolls across the bartop to meet hers. The first thing he notices isn't her dark hair or large eyes, her leather jacket or the Devil-may-care attitude weighing her down. It's the red communicator peeking out of her left sleeve that matches his; that matches the scrubs he's still wearing labeling him the probie. He slides her the jar, turning to lean against his hand as he props his elbow against the counter, putting his matching smartwatch on display.

"Looking for this, luv?" he asks in his usual Liverpoolian drawl, perhaps a bit more slurred than usual. If anyone could tell the difference.