Blue's Cantina

An old-looking Creed slowly wheels his way in, pausing and stopping the wheelchair as he looks around, blowing a few blonde and gray hairs out of his face before blinking at the scents.

"Huh. One of those nexus places," he mutters to himself, then slowly wheels over to the bar, large, iron-like muscels rippling under his white T shirt, even though his legs seem relatively flat and show sins of obvious neglect in more than just training sessions.

"Have a beer," he grunts, handing up a few bills and then wheeling himself into a corner before leaning forward and watching who came and went with all the interest and thoughtfullness of a mountain lion. It's obvious that despite age and disability, this old cougar's got more than a few fights left in him. And he's as alert as ever for spotting them, even while he's relaxing.