Omar peers into his now empty hip flask, looking for that last illusive drop of that illegally distilled American spirit known to most as White Lightning. Frustrated he swiftly holsters his flask and turns to the remaining recruits in the room. He notices there are less than before, but doesn't know or care where they may have went as he focuses long enough to shout a rational sentence.<br/>"HAY! Is there a place 'round here where a man can getta drink?" echoes through the room as Omar steps away from the wall he'd been leaning against, using his cane for support rather than it's intended function as weapon...