[@Andreyich][@BiffleChump]

Van Graff had almost finished his third flagon of piss-poor alcohol when the first applicant - albeit one that looked severely confused and not at all like a volunteer - made their way through the poor and into the The Intelligent Guard. Indeed, this...man soon revealed that what Helmut believed to be true was.

"Now-now, sorry friends, it was an accident, I don't know whats here but I mean no trouble and I couldn't cause any even if I wanted to, I'll just be on my way out now if you wouldn't mind."

This nearly gave the Witch Hunter cause to smile, almost. Instead he studied the young man and found him to be the atypical model of a noble born Imperial, a Middenlander from his accent, his hand already seeming to be going for something just out of sight.

Helmut was about to raise a hand to reassure the dumbfounded lad when another figure entered the tavern, this one clearly recognising him from somewhere (possibly one of the posters slapped up around the place?), and he took a moment to recline in his chair and switch his steely gaze from one to the other and back again.

"I see you are both confused," he finally said, his tone oddly friendly for a man of his profession, "but please do not be too alarmed by my friends and I, there is good reason for their presence."

The last part was directed much more at Hans, and, hoping that the boy wouldn't drag out his pistol and unleash it on someone - it would [b]not[/b] end well for him - Van Graff opened his arms wide, accompanied by a swish of his coat, and gestured to two seats placed on the opposite side of the table at which he sat.

"Please, seat yourselves. Tell me your names. Would you like a drink? You both look exhausted."

Not waiting to see whether they said yes to the drink, he then gestured to the proprietor of the tavern.

"Three flagons, if you please."

Rutger Helfried, the belligerent owner of the Intelligent Guardsman, gave a long suffering sigh and went to fetch the drinks.

[i]This fool better be paying me for these![/i]