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[u][b][color=darkorange]Selina[/color][/b][/u]
[b][center]Constantin LeBlanc[/center][/b]
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Constantin had been a grim shadow, unmoving and unflinching, silent and brooding after the short battle against the local wildlife. Boarding the coach he had taken care of his rifle and kept his mouth shut, while the party had made its way towards the city. Only one time, when they almost hit a house on their way, loud cursing had left his lips. Yet, once more he was silent, as he climbed from the coach down into the dust of the city. He could feel his mind racing, and the distant allure of the pipe filled his thoughts. A cold shiver ran down his spine, as he took a deep breath, once more feeling the taste of the smoke along his tongue. 

It was the horrid accent of a german, that took him out from his thoughts, and his face would betray his disgust over the german, happily greeting Kaufman, to grind his teeth, as he felt an old anger building up in his chest. Many words came up which he wanted to throw at that man, yet he was able to calm his thoughts, after learning that he was born in the US and not that upjumped state of barbrians. Still, the anger had mixed with his desire for a pipe of opium, leaving him in a dark state of mind, as he stayed outside waiting near the coach as he leaned against the coach. It would be Kaufmans and Blackburns decision how it would go from here, and as long as he was in for his cut, he didnt minded it one bit. 

A bit of ruckus inside caught his attention, as a rather pretty waitress was leaving the establishment, in a hasty fashion. Raising an eyebrow, he saw Blackburn approach, before taking the money of his hand without saying a word. To his suprise, it was an offer that followed. [b]"You dont say, Rosbif.."[/b] His eyes locked onto the money, before he took a moment to look into Blackburns eyes, and a sharkish grin moved onto the Frenchmans lips. Taking the rifle from his shoulders, he stored the money in his side pocket, before pressing the Gras Model 1874 in Blackburns grip. [b]"Hold onto this for me, will you..."[/b] Without another word, he stepped into the establishment, his eyes quickly finding the fallen over table, and the man behind it. [b]"You there! Hold up a moment...let me help you.." [/b] His steps were calm, as he approached friendly and with his hands raised. Not that Constantin was above feeling up a Wench himself, yet he for one had earned himself more smiles then slaps. But this was for a payment...

[b]"Here we go..."[/b] Offering his hand, he helped him up, only to smash his left fist right into his face. A kick into his side followed, before Constantin would reach for the head, holding it into his hands, before smashing his knee into the visage. Should anyone around be so foolish to raise from his seat, the frenchman would quickly turn around, screaming a: [b]"SIT YOUR ASS DOWN..."[/b] His hand moved onto his pistol on his side, before he would turn one more time to the man on the ground. [b]"You still have something on your arm. You spilled your drink? Wait, i help you...fils de pute!"[/b] His boot would now where to hit, to dislocate a shoulder...