Rowdy, a boy no older than eighteen, silently walked into the tavern. He kept his head low, but was clearly trying to draw what he could from everything around him. He wore black slacks, matched with an easily maneuverable long-sleeve black button up top. There was a blade tucked away neatly underneath the hoodie he wore, which matched his color scheme of black. He was pale, and had dirty blonde unkempt hair that fell to his forehead. He sat at a table, now openly allowing himself to look around the tavern.