[ The fact that Dante may have scarred a man from indulging in the free shared bath water doesn't even cross his mind. After all, he's had much more terrible first impressions. Barely a blip on the radar in comparison, really. If anything, Dante was on better behavior than usual. Urianger is a lucky guy. ]

Ah, right. We've both got pants on this time.

[ The bartender does give pause at that remark. If Dante notices he doesn't seem to care.

He's about to go in for a shake but the little bow and, really, the whole elf-man's countenance does seem like it should come out of some fantasy novel from nearly a century prior. But he can dig it. Despite his own tendency towards the casual, he does a fine job of mimicking the gesture with it somehow not being a mockery. ]

Just "Dante" will do. Even my demons don't call me "Master".

[ It's a joke. Because he's a funny guy, Urianger! You'll see.

He straightens just in time for his own mug of cider to be set out. Dante doesn't waste a second. ]

So, Mister Urianger Augurelt-- [ That's so painfully French. ] --how have you been getting on these past few months?