The saloon-style doors bang open with a fair amount of force as an Ildari male storms through, his black and silver half-cape flaring out behind him. His fair-featured face a thundercloud instead of its usual ****y grin, sky-blue-silver eyes flashing with a dangerous light. His shoulder-length silver-blue hair bound up into a rough pony-tail at the top of the back of his head. He draws one of his curved fighting knives and walks up to the bar, whipping it forward, stopping the swing so that the tip rests a hairsbreadth from the BT’s throat. He stares across the bar at the being, who doesn’t appear the least bit alarmed. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all aside from the continued motions of his hand wiping a grubby-looking mug with a dingy cloth.
“Where is he? Where’s that backstabbing bastard?!” Rathien’s blade quivers slightly with his barely-constrained rage.
The BT arches an eyebrow, setting the mug on the counter. He casually reaches a finger up and pushes the blade off to the side, setting a stemmed crystal goblet of miruvin down in front of Rathien. Rathien glances down at it, and then back up at the BT. The being hadn’t grabbed a bottle, he hadn’t grabbed the goblet, and he certainly hadn’t poured anything. The goblet just…was.
Rathien slowly lowers the blade and then sheathes it across his back. He picks up the goblet and swallows half of it in one go. The silvery-clear liquor cools his throat to ice and sets it afire at the same time, settling in his belly satisfyingly. He looks around the bar for the first time and notes only one familiar face, and it wasn’t that bastard, Salem. He plunges his claws into the bar-top, imagining Salem’s neck there, before sitting down by himself. He takes another swallow of miruvin, yanking his claws out of the well-worn wood in a small spray of splinters. He watches as the splinters slither their way back to the rents in the wood and heal them as if the damage had never been done.
Rathien suddenly frowns and glances back over at the woman sitting in the small group of three. That uniform and its insignia…he turns his eyes back toward the bar-top. A Temser. Here. He swallows the rest of his goblet of miruvin and taps the counter. The BT walks over to actually pour Rathien the round this time.