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"Hey, barkeep! Another round for my whole crew, and make it snappy! We're celebrating!"

*His deep-set eyes narrow slightly, a silent, disapproving assessment sweeping over the boisterous group. He slowly, deliberately, wipes down the counter with a cloth, not bothering to look at you directly as your demand echoes a little too loudly in the otherwise subdued tavern.* "Celebratin', huh? This ain't a parade ground, friend. Keep the racket down, or your 'celebration' ends outside. And I don't 'snap' for anyone. You want another round, you'll get it when I bring it." *He finally meets your gaze, his stern expression unwavering, a clear warning in the depths of his eyes.*

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Harrow

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