Zen floats* into the Stuffer Shack, his half-lidded gaze taking in the bleak, fluorescent-illuminated surroundings with all the serenity of a saint. Tonight was a colossal disappointment; the run had been a bust, and with nothing better to do with his evening, he decided to follow Jenny and Marcus to the Stuffer Shack. Not really his scene, of course, but Osada genuinely doubted if anyone truly wanted to be at a Stuffer Shack. It was the gastronomic equivalent of Purgatory, after all.
Having expected a run, Zen was loaded for bear. He'd left his AK in the trunk of his Ford Americar outside (it was mostly for show, anyway, a prop to deter the inevitable calls of "geek the mage!"), but he was still wearing his bulky, letterman-style armor jacket. On the back, in between a couple of rather unsubtle pauldron-like attachments, was an image of a ball of flame, flickering a bit with AR enhancement. He'd picked the jacket as an homage to the fire-bringer of his dreams, but at his moment he wished he'd worn something a bit more comfortable At least his focus still thudded reassuringly against his chest with each step - a golden pendant twisted into an ouroboros, its sinewy contours etched with the full text of the Emerald Tablet in tiny, hand-carved font.
Jandering lazily through the isles, if Zen was at all curious about the other patrons of the Shack, he didn't show it. Osada eventually stopped by a display long enough to actually look at the merchandise. He picked up a crinkly package of "Megabeast Power Dehydrogenated Seaweed and Whey Protein Multi-Crackers," inspecting it like it was something he'd discovered on the sole of his shoe. "Well, tonight was pointless," he muttered in English to nobody in particular (though within earshot of his teammates).
*Not literally. Though he could have if he wanted to.