[@Terry Bogard][@Varicke]

[u]Clayton Radshaw[/u]

Clayton's sharp sense of smell had no trouble singling out the new comer, his keen ears easily identifying each heavy footstep that took the fighter across the tavern floor, however, it all amounted to nothing. His acute heightened senses counting for naught as all the drinks that day prior caught up with him and conspired to impede and seperate him from his own senses. The copious amount of alcohol acting like a blinder, narrowing the breadth of his already vastly limited and inebriated focus, which as of right now was solely concentrated on and unreciprocated by the lady at the table. 

He didn't even seem to be aware of the shadowy presence and the imp above him, which one after the other vanished from reality in their own subtle ways, and he most definitely didn't notice Terry's greeting.

It was just by pure coincidence and the luck and timing of an empty mug that made the big man to turn around as Terry strode up.
Clayton just stood there silently for a long drawn out moment, empty mug in hand, a slight sway to his balance, red eyes blinking, slowly appraising the newcomer who stood between him and the bar.

[b]"And who are you?"[/b] He abruptly asked, his greeting falling short of any sense of formality.