[There's a certain lightness that slowly creeps across his processors as Hank talks, something subtle and distracting and, if he's being honest with himself, nice. It spreads from the tips of his fingers, diffusing into his systems almost lazily, and Cayde has a moment where he stops paying attention to what's being said and instead just lets himself fall into the feeling.

It takes a few long seconds before he even realizes that there's an unspoken question being thrown before him and he blinks to try and pull his mind back into something semi-functional even as he raises a browplate and does his best to shoot Hank an incredulous look.]

You make it sound like it's such a bad thing. But yeah, just around back, near the hanger. 's a good place, lotta my Hunters usually spend -spent- a lotta time down there.

[His hand moves along Hank's back, coming to rest between the man's shoulders as he urges his forward. He wasn't lying, it's a quick walk if a bit noisy as a phantom ship comes in for a landing off in the distance, but it's nothing more than background noise to him by now. He'd much rather focus on the strange feelings, well and making sure that he doesn't accidentally miss a step and eat floor as he leads the both of them down into a lower area.

The bar is exactly like he remembers: tiny, dark, and hazy. There are a few more ghostly forms congregated about, milling around near what appears to be an honest-to-Traveler jukebox, but they pay the new entrants absolutely no mind. As he steers Hank over to the bar, a temporary stop, he somewhat regrettably breaks contact with him in order to lean over and rummage about.]

What's your poison, then? I'm assuming not homemade hooch like we got back at the temple.