For all of his ability to brood mysteriously, Will is a fairly down to earth man. He's happiest on the beach cracking open crabs or cleaning shrimp, preferably those he's caught himself. It's only when he's pulled away from that simplicity that things begin to get difficult for him... His mind begins to warp in on itself, harassed by the atrocities of the world around him.

Right now he's trying not to think about that, still procrastinating over this idea of magic and monsters. He's justified it, that he can have a day (or a few more) to just sink into nothingness. No cases. No Jack. No doctors. Not even Alana, because for all her comfort she was still a thorn.

"I'll have to set you up with a reel." Which would be a nice project, something simple to keep him occupied for a little bit.

He looks up with an amused expression when John criticizes his beer, pulled out of lazy thoughts about what kind of equipment to choose for a novice Brit.

"We don't know any better," he opines wryly. He turns the drink in his hand around, examining the label. "Although this one is Mexican."