[Something seems to shift. He's haggled enough about pay to have a sense of when it isn't going to happen- and the barkeep is going a strong impression that after all of that, the best he can hope for is a drink and a moldy rag to put against his face.
He doesn't know Sam's behind him, and he sure as hell doesn't know about the influence the other man seems to have upon the owner. But something shifts. He's slid a small bag of money hard enough across the bartop to stand a good chance of bypassing him entirely and bursting open on the floor- but perhaps tellingly to Sam, his reactions are quick. Too quick for most, but his hand slams down atop the bag, and the contents are emptied out.
Looks like the barkeep took at least half. Bastard.]
Asshole.
[The murmur is countered instantly, though whether it's from his lack of pay, the murmur itself, or something else entirely? Who knows. The coins are transferred to the pocket of his trousers- perhaps Sam would notice they're military ones, belonging to the Free Cities armed forces- and puts his hand in the bag, resting that against the side of his face.
But then he notices he's being spoken to.]
You running something similar?
[A flick of his eyes to him. They're an unnatural, chemical blue, ringed in green. Ludicrously bright- shaped wide, as if the man is still young- still impressionable- but any impression of innocence is flawed by the fact they're narrowed. In the dim, almost black gloom of the bar, it's almost as if they're glowing with a light of their own.]
no subject
He doesn't know Sam's behind him, and he sure as hell doesn't know about the influence the other man seems to have upon the owner. But something shifts. He's slid a small bag of money hard enough across the bartop to stand a good chance of bypassing him entirely and bursting open on the floor- but perhaps tellingly to Sam, his reactions are quick. Too quick for most, but his hand slams down atop the bag, and the contents are emptied out.
Looks like the barkeep took at least half.
Bastard.]
Asshole.
[The murmur is countered instantly, though whether it's from his lack of pay, the murmur itself, or something else entirely? Who knows. The coins are transferred to the pocket of his trousers- perhaps Sam would notice they're military ones, belonging to the Free Cities armed forces- and puts his hand in the bag, resting that against the side of his face.
But then he notices he's being spoken to.]
You running something similar?
[A flick of his eyes to him. They're an unnatural, chemical blue, ringed in green. Ludicrously bright- shaped wide, as if the man is still young- still impressionable- but any impression of innocence is flawed by the fact they're narrowed.
In the dim, almost black gloom of the bar, it's almost as if they're glowing with a light of their own.]
Hope you pay more than that dick.