The bartender had a distant, tired look on his sunken face. Preoccupied and defeated his movements were as if though all a struggle. Vacant eyes scanned the girl void of recognition or life. With a few faint sighs and some sluggish movements clay presented her with a Jabukovača. 

Served in an unusual ornate goblet, lined with gold and silver trimming and dotted with gems. It was clearly not of this taverns common decor nor style, but one had only to look around to see the morbid, luxurious decadent style slowly filtering in throughput the place like a disease.

A painting or two over here. The table and chair over there. A new light above, a different door handle. It was evident in the smallest places to anyone of any familiarity to the place or eye for detail. (Or a sense for the supernatural and or energies/aura’s)