[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Johnathon Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center] [b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Crossed Swords Inn & Tavern[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] A Plate of Food, Femnal[/center][/b] Keystone smiled an appreciative thanks for the food, simple though it was. Not that he regarded simple food negatively; one of the worst things one could do, in his opinion, was try to prepare a meal above one's ability. Besides, getting to know a particular item of epicure, and understand it for what it is (and what it is not) was infinitely easier when it was not overly spiced or smothered with gravy. Simple and honest tavern fare should never be something for which to apologize. No, the only issue with this meal was the gesture of gratitude the large man gave when it was served. Unaccustomed to expressing himself in an outwardly manner, Keystone had been attempting recently to show some manner of emotion in his daily life that didn't involve anger. The main pitfall to his attempts to do so being that he had what scholars would one day refer to as "Anger Issues". A bubbling cauldron of seething rage simultaneously fueled him and made him wary of the safety of others in his presence; he recognized that his size and conditioning made his immediate vicinity perilous were he to ever drop the reins of his temper and allow it amok. Yes, the errant pugilist's warm and pleasing smile looked more like an expression exposing the secret internal machinations of a disturbed sausage-grinder who'd just had certain congresses with the Mayor's wife and set fire to City Hall. Keystone needed more practice in front of a mirror, else he should merely be content with his own limitations thusly. Keystone unslung his pack and set it down between himself and the bar, his right foot casually perched atop to deter the curious and/or dishonest. He produced a rather large bone-handled knife from the back of his belt, shiny and pristine as if it had never been used, and proceeded to have at the chunk of fine, roasted flesh in front of him with it. He always tried to use his own blade, if he could. Midway through his meal, he acquired the attention of the Inn's proprietor, Femnal, and politely (as polite was possible for the man, anyway) inquired as to his establishment's services. [color=b8860b]"Evening, little master. I'm grateful on the food n' ale, sir, and I'm wanting to get a room. And a bath. Definitely a bath. Big sudsy one."[/color] He paused for a moment, regarding the nature of this somewhat isolated, frontier town.[color=b8860b]"P'raps you'd be as kind as to tell me a little 'bout the options?"[/color]