Sitting at the bar with the remains of a pint, Mitchell is similarly trying to drown his sorrows. Or at least sulk over them vaguely while he wonders whether or not he should ignore another girl making eyes at him from a little way away (how easy would it be to chat her up, go back to her place and-- no, stop it).

When he hears someone nearby him start to speak, he looks over and regards Jules with a mild look. It's good to hear a familiar accent. "Rough week?" He sounds pleasantly Irish and like he's been put through the ringer himself.