Pushes the door to the pub open quickly and moves in as fluidly as the water dripping from his body. It's obviously raining again in seattle. He looks like a mess. His suit is torn to shreds and covered in blood. His, others, really doesn't matter at this point. There's a hole at the side where a knife wound still trickles slightly from under the patch, the blood mixing with the water in the way that it does. His overcoat has obviously been hit by at least one shotgun blast, exposing the pair of holsters situated in his back and the two large pistols within them as well as a few places in his back where he would probably be leaking as well if it weren't for the liberal administration of binding foam. His hair is matted straight down to his head by the rain, with trickles of blood coming from the beneath it. The right arm of his clothing is completely missing, exposing the red flesh he SURGED to, the black bruises that look like they've been conveniently placed, and the filled holster strapped to the inside of his forearm. His glasses are still perfectly straight though, and his face is as blank as ever even though it's seen better days as well. He moves to the bar and sits, placing his elbow on the counter and cupping his still gloved hand expectantly.
Whiskey. Neat. Double, no, triple.
He casts a cold look at Ruski
Centering is metamagic. Not even most awakened can use it.
He looks forward again, waiting for that drink
Paladin
