Patience

[Viktor]

There was a strange comfort and uneasy distaste he always found within the bar. Having seen it over the years carve it’s place in the world amongst the dregs of humanity, experiencing it always seemed to cause a level of cynical amusement. Years may have passed and faces may have changed but underneath it all it was the same, the same sort of dirt and filth never truly being displaced despite time doing its best to try to wipe it away.

Patience was not a thing in grand supply here. Patrons jostling each other in attempts to be served first; shouts from those seated seeking refills or tables to be cleared of empties; slaps upon the faces of those whose hands ended up where they shouldn’t or hadn’t paid to be; threats and fists raised quickly to slights perceived and real.

He watched as the one he was waiting for arrived, made the usual pleasantries and then found somewhere to sit down in a corner, away from most people. He waited a couple of minutes to let them get settled and comfortable before moving through the crowd. A few of the people shifted out of his way, a faint nod of deference or mild flash of fear as he passed. Each dirty cuff was unbuttoned and the sleeve rolled up to the elbow in turn as he made his way across the room. He pulled a chair out and sat down next to George without waiting for an invitation and blatantly ignored any protest.

“I would have word with you Mr. Williamson.” was said once he was seated in a quiet but firm tone as dark eyes watched George impassively from beneath the scruffy flat cap covering salt and pepper coloured hair. His features were weathered and worn, a lifetime of labour and hard work evident upon them accompanied by the advance of years. His clothes matched the man, hard wearing but weathered and worn, repairs evident in places.

[George Williamson]

George had gotten a glass of 'what's on tap'. Note that the style of alcohol, or or the kind of drink it actually wasnt specified. This was because whatever was on tap may have been slightly alcoholic but it is was mostly river. Several of the patrons around sampling the women or dice had bought the same. Much like George they used the drink as a ticket to sit down rather than actually drink the stuff.

George hadn't much to do. In fact he had simply woken too early for his evenings business and want to bustle of people to distract his mind. Though when someone he didn't think he recognised parted the crowd it peaked his interest. Someone from another neck of the woods perhaps? Maybe an old boy come back from the war?

Old boy.

"Most people like ta'," he stayed leaned back in his seat staring into the impassive eyes, "But ya have me at a disadvantage, Mr...?"

[Viktor]

"Tallow."

There's a short pause to let it sink in before he reaches into a pocket and pulls out two wax sealed letters and places them on the table between them and pushes them toward him.

"These are to be delivered."

[George Williamson]

Even when your heart stops beating you can still feel it sink as endless, mostly horrifying, possibilities streak past. Out of all of it a shining beacon of normality shone through. Who is Mr Tallow? A question he'd asked in evenings past. With his eyes still widened from the shock he continued to stare at Mr Tallow to see what he really was.

George doesn't look down at the letters. He could see them in his cone of vision and that's all what was need. Knowing that the bar wasn't immediately to be covered in blood calmed him a little. "They're addressed?"

[Viktor]

"Yes."

Mr. Tallow sits back in the chair and folds his arms across his chest, not breaking the stare between the pair of them.

[George Williamson]

George was bemused.

George couldn't get an aura read and Mr Tallow certainly looked how he was. He'd hoped to see Mr Tallows human arua to confirm it. Then again, he'd heard than an elder Nosferatu's obfuscation to be so potent no mental prowess could ever hope to overcome it. He should have just stuck with the aura read.

For now George's arms rest on the table.

"Miss Ash was 'appy with her gift. Friend of the father?"

[Viktor]

Tallow doesn't even acknowledge the question, instead he gestures briefly to the letters before crossing his arm again.

"You going to take them or am I telling someone you refused them."

[George Williamson]

George gives a nod of acknowledgement. "Yea, 'course I'll deliver." Though he doesn't pick up the letters. He's find to have them sit there till the end of the meeting.

[Viktor]

Tallow's eyes narrow slightly at Georges response.

"Pick them up. They are in your care." He says in an unimpressed tone. "He does not like his things being on view for all to see."

There's a pause, then he suddenly moves, backhanding Georges tankard and it's contents off the table before his arms are folded again.

"Things get spoiled in here very easily." he adds in the same tone.

[George Williamson]

Another beer soaked the floor. He'd been taken back by the sudden move that could have just as easily spoiled the letters. Goerge took a look at the barkeep Ricky. If he knew Mr Tallow arm this was in his character he'd hardly look up, but if this was new he'd look longer and take Mr Tallow into account. It was best to know the violent ones.

"N' now ya've got more people takin notice. Not doing very good at the keepin things outa view, are ya." He lets it sink in, "so how 'bout you stop being a da'cop and play some cards."

George took the letters and stashed them behind him. He doubted Mr Tallows ability to not get them messy if he got even more aggravated a them not being taken.