Bakugou doesn't drink. While he can purchase foods at the tavern, not even a lazy day can draw him inside. He used to visit from time to time when he had nothing to do but to mope over himself but those days are over. While he might still lounge about and self-pity his situation, the Capricorn was a public place. He would rather sit at home and burn dead deer with his flames at home for a meal than eat something that had been well prepared. The loss of the tavern therefore meant nothing to the ragdoll other than the fact that the very night it had burned down was a frustrating one. He remembers still coughing from all that smoke even days after, remembering the feeling of it invading his lungs - intoxicating. With all these recent events, Bakugou isn't even sure how to feel and react. While part of him is angry, infuriated by what had happened with Caesar and the fact that children had been caught within the flames, he is also afraid to let himself feel that way. His anger is like that of a cold flame, hardly dangerous but there, fed up and exhausted of spitting embers and ash.

He saw the sign but first ignored it. To be honest, he thought it was a vomit of letters before soon realising that they were poorly written words. He walks closer, squinting his eyes at the writing. While Bakugou could read and write in English, it was not his first language. The backwards e's made it difficult for him to translate and realise that all he had to do was mirror them in his mind. He assumes that by the drinker's den, the person who had written it meant the Tavern. Rebuilding it would be difficult considering the heavy lifting they needed but it would make sense to clean up what is there then replace the burnt wood later. Some parts of the Capricorn, after all, were still salvageable. The ragdoll scrunches his nose, still remembering the thick ashen smell. He wonders if there is a corpse upstairs, plainly looking upwards. It frustrates him to think that there were casualties to begin with. He had tried so hard to gather as many pirates out of there as possible, moving in and out whilst avoiding the flames and dropping wood. Rescue wasn't something he was good at.

"I'll help with those tables after I deal with that shit smell," the feline murmurs to Feliks, teleporting towards the bottom of the stairs. While he could help clean the floor or restock the drinks, he wasn't interested in doing them at all. He would rather do something that let his earth elementals shine than look like someone's maid.