Johnathon's eyes lit up as Crom accepted his payment. He smiled deeply, relieved beyond words that he'd found a way out of this mess. Once they were over the mountains he'd probably even leave the rest of his money with Crom anyway, a gratitude and a safety. Intuition stated that Arcarti currency, despite being the obvious standard, would soon draw untoward attention in many western countries. Even contemplating the tensions on the continent wasn't enough to bring down his spirits, he bolted to his feet, almost making to shake the man's hand in gratitude when Crom called to the man having trouble with his drink. Johnathon froze in time with the other patrons of the inn at the boy's reply. He'd seen plenty of bar fights over slights at mothers in his day. [i]Oh dear[/i], he thought, his gaze shifting rapidly between Crom and the boy. Admittedly, he was more concerned about walking away with his guide without the town constabulary asking questions about a dead man at the Mast. Between the two of them, there wasn't much of a fight to be had, but with any luck there wouldn't be a fight. None of them had traded so much as a glare yet, just some japes, but he still intended to quell any bloodshed before it began. The kid deserved his life and he, frankly, deserved the guide he just paid for. Everyone won that way. "Seems they're born feisty up here," he said loudly, chuckling nervously to himself and clapping his hands together, walking away from the table and just so slightly putting himself between Crom and the cloaked boy at the bar. "And what are you all staring at? Just two men trading jests, clearly," he said, turning on his heel to address as many of the Mast's glaring patrons as he could. They weren't going to play along, and the silence of the inn continued as all parties awaited what came next.