Office, paperwork. Paperwork, office. Paperwork paperwork, p-a-p-e-r-w-o-r-k... office office office. Office!! Evan had a fleeting suspicion that his vocabulary was rapidly decreasing. He wouldn't be surprised if it was; he'd only been with the FBI for a few months, and already work was piling up faster than he could deal with it. It was probably their way of welcoming the New Kid, or maybe it was just for their own entertainment. Who likes the New Kid, anyway? Ew. Like, so not cool. Evan smirked to himself, scratching the back of his head as he stepped out of the elevator and into the underground parking lot. His transport was pretty easy to spot; an old white and slightly beat-up 1984 MG Maestro. Now in its senior years it was a miserable little vehicle, always breaking down at the most inconvenient times, but it had a conciderable amount of speed, so he was happy with it. When it worked, anyway.

He strolled over to the car and got in, fumbling clumsily for the car keys. He slid one into the ignition slot and turned it, sighing softly with relief as the headlights came on and the engine choked to life. He pulled the Austin out of its little parking space, and drove out of the lot and into the street. Evan usually just went straight home as soon as he got off work, but he had a good mind to stop by the pub tonight. He almost drove right past it as he carried on in thought, as the bar was right across the road from the FBI head office. He sharply turned the steering wheel to the right and pulled up into one of the empty parking spaces. He switched off the engine and climbed out, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. Evan stood outside the bar for a while before going in. The bar had a relatively relaxed atmosphere. It was classy in its own way, but not too classy, which he was grateful for. He swiftly went up the steps and lightly pushed the doors open, slipping through and shutting them again.

Inside it was not as crowded as it usually was, but there were still a fair amount of people around. Most of the people there were sitting with their eyes glued to the television set mounted to the wall, some were brooding quietly over mugs of beer and stressing about work, and others were blaring merrily at the top of their voices whatever they could think of first. Feels like home, he thought. He went over to the bar, hopping onto an empty bar stool. Evan glanced about his surroundings; on his left was an old man perched on a seat with his head drooping and his body leaning precariously far to the side, and to his right a young brunette woman looking around her. He gave her a quick smile-and-nod greeting and ordered a beer as the bartender whisked past him. Evan folded his arms in front of him and resting his head on them, his shoulders heaving slightly as he sighed. Where was Friday when you needed it most?