Calen glanced up when he heard the door open, then did a double take. Damn. Poor son of a bitch looked like he'd been dragged through a cross country course. Backwards.
Well. Not his problem. Plenty of people stumbled into the inns of Zantaric looking rather disheveled. Still, he found himself glancing at the stranger every once in a while out of the corner of his eye, curiosity piqued.
The barmaid approached to ask if he wanted another drink, all fluttering lashes and artfully exposed breasts. Calen resisted the urge to roll his eyes- to be honest he felt a bit sorry for the girl, but he'd been in the tavern enough to know how persistent she could be, and it could get rather irritating. Still, he just gave her a smile and a reasonable tip as he stood and gathered up his cloak, meaning to leave.
Until a rather large hand caught his shoulder just before he reached the door, shoving him back into a wall- uncomfortably close to the table the bedraggled stranger occupied. He stumbled and frowned, glancing up at his assailant- then gulped.
"Corryn. Well, it's been a long time-"
"Save it." The man- an acquaintance from a previous job that hadn't ended well- shot his hand out to grip the front of his shirt. "You and me need to have a talk, friend."
"You and I," Calen corrected, unable to help himself.
"...What?"
"You and I," he repeated. "Not you and me."
A fist cracked across his face.