Francis doesn't indulge in Frenzy too much- only when someone offers- but he does like the club. And it's not like there's a hell of a lot to do around here. So if he's not at the little archery range he and Clint managed to rig in the gym, then he's here. He just ordered a drink, finishing off a glass of cheap whiskey.

At the question he shrugs his shoulders. Purple shirt, black jeans, but he polishes off the last of his drink and sets it on the counter.

"Well, we can't have that, can we? Sure, why not." Francis was a little bit easy, not that he advertises it. And even if the guy's breath smelled a little like a molotov cocktail, he wasn't bad looking, just rough around the edges. Which was sort of what he went for, anyway. Francis was tall, a little lanky, but with archer's shoulders and a certain fondness for the color purple.