Once upon a more prosperous time, the small bar had laid claim to a name and a sign above the entrance on which to print it. Back then it had been “The Wren”, and had been a classy place, with waitresses who wore relatively modest outfits, served decent food, and booze of a relatively good quality.However, prosperous times hadn’t stayed for long after the Kyuubi attacked, and from the looks of things, wouldn’t be returning anytime soon. The sign above the doorway had long-since fallen down, and so had the quality of the food, so much so anyone with any sanity at all refrained from ordering any. The booze wasn’t good either, but it was strong, and that was all Neji cared about. He sat at a table at the back, eyes closed, and forehead resting on the dirty tabletop. The shards of an empty bottle lay on the floor by his feet where he had dropped it. A second was clenched in his right hand. For the pale-eyed jounin, the limit to exactly how much alcohol he could down without passing out cold was two bottles. But he had given instructions to the bartender, and because he was a Jounin, he expected them to be followed. “Keep it coming until I pass out, and then I want one waiting when I wake up.” The bar formally known as the Wren catered solely to shinobi, and most shinobi who came wanted to forget something. The booze served its purpose, even if it didn’t taste good.