Mazone stunted his singing and capped it all off with a dazzling flourish of his mauve trenchcoat and a small dance number on the tables. He was sure to get some odd reactions--but it was all intentional. Those who didn't respond, who didn't give him side-eye, were the ones he had to worry about the most. Those were the ones who knew how to handle outspoken and unruly foriegners, they were the ones who knew the ins and outs of any torture dungeon and had contacts of any shady bandit clan looking for a quick buck. Those who did react--who did give him side-eye--were normal patrons like himself. Those were the ones he didn't have to worry about. His ease returned to him after he got down off the table, he (thought) he figured out who the troublemakers were and so now he could rest easy; they couldn't hide from him anymore.

He went to get himself a drink.

[color=mauve]"So, Quinn is paying? [i]Bonjour.[/i] I'll have the strongest thing you've got on tap."[/color] His proper and elegant tone had died and given way to a relaxed swagger.

[@Yomojo] [@tex] [@Patches]