Oh, The Tewwor!

           𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐄'𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍, 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 down to near nothing in an attempt to appear inconspicuous. Sliske’s gloved hands rested in his lap neatly as he looked to them. Ever grateful that sitting makes him look less lofty, “Ah. I do believe there is a decent one two blocks east and one block north. It’s not the greatest, but it’s likely moderately clean. The more expensive ones are downtown.” The eyes under the brim of his hat, a strange choice of attire for the night, almost analyzes the other after a sickly sip of cold coffee, “Are you from around here?” Ah, the gentle way he assigns the tourist label through the patient smile.

The notion of how off things were is already catalogued in the background. Normality seemed to stretch thin in these parts ( hence the palpable apprehension ), but Oryn wasn’t keen to jump the gun so long as everyone remained civil. And this stranger, whoever or whatever he was, remains polite enough — helpful, even. Unless there’s some hidden ploy in those directions. Two blocks east and one block north. They could make the distance in good time; hopefully settle in before night fell too dark in that heavy sky.