Rook Andreas had been nonchalantly leaning against a wall, with his arms behind is back, completely silent. His presence, however was hard to ignore; his piercing eyes scanned the room, making eye contact with each patron at least once.
His stench billowed off of his body and settled like smoke, adding to the already rank air of the bar. He glanced at the brat— He had known him for less than a minute but had already surmised what the kid was all about-- trying to parse any hint of discomfort. Maybe he’ll retch. Now wouldn’t that be funny?
Andreas flashes a sickly-sweet smile.
“Much obliged, my friend.”
He raises his arm up in some kind of salute, revealing a wicked blade where his hand should have been, and then stalks off to find parlor 3.