"Something tells me you know said ginger," Finn responded, not even bothering to hide his smirk. He couldn't help it. The disdain was practically dripping from Roosevelt's words. "Don't worry. As soon as I know, you'll know. And it won't get in the way of St. Patricks. Even if they have nerdfest planned that night, it won't be happening here. The Pub will be all green beer, all the time. And nary a corset in sight."

He poured a shot and sent it down the bar at a nod from a regular, then turned back to Roosevelt. "Nah, man. You've got the wrong guy for that one. Maybe Smith, the Tattoist? He runs pretty hardcore. I know he's run the New York City and the Boston Marathons. I'm more about martial arts and finding my Zen." He added the last with a big grin.