[@Mimic][@timelord1101]
Doorman had begun taking in the odd flavour of the bar he found himself in. An interestingly authentic take on a old styled tavern, he thought. The warm fireplace and novel decour seemed to melt much of his stress away, so he shifted his posture on the stool and begun reading over the menu. The patrons had an odd look to them, an eerie feeling of distance he hadn’t experienced before. His pondering was interrupted by a loud scream which pierced his thoughts like knife. 
Almost falling out of his chair from surprise, Doorman quickly righted himself. He turned to face the noise, his hand instinctively moving closer to his hip. In front of him lay a man, who he could swear was not there a second ago, in the arms of the white haired woman. Still shocked at the sudden noise and… person, Doorman could do little but stare until-

"Oi, Cowboy. Yea, you with the getup. Help me carry em upstairs." A thick Scottish accent jump-started his brain. His body, rusty from a few years of the slow life, took a painfully long time to get him out of his seat and into action.

“Who i- you know what, I don’t want to know.” Doorman moved to the, rather impressively fit, man’s legs. He nodded towards the, presumably Scottish, woman and together they lifted the mysterious figure.
Touching him left an oddly strange sensation, almost like a tingling where skin made contact, but that quickly faded as the group made it’s way towards the staircase.

“Is there a spare room or something we can put him in? Any docs in this place?” He said, still very much ignorant of his current surroundings and situation.