[If he looks just to his left, and he should, really, he'll see a woman with a glass of bourbon in front of her and a notebook. Were he to peek he'd find it not to be another journal like his, but rather a log of hours. A schedule that is filled far too much for the day, and she knew it. Exhausted as she is she hasn't noticed him or his post to the journals until she hears 'cheers'
Habit has her lift her glass of bourbon and lean over just enough to clink it against his beer before taking a sip.]
[Action]
Habit has her lift her glass of bourbon and lean over just enough to clink it against his beer before taking a sip.]
Welcome to purgatory, Sergent Doyle.