Koltira was not usually a nervous man, but he approached the bar with more than a little trepidation in his heart. Bariyan's tone over the phone hadn't exactly been friendly, and Koltira recalled the last look in his eyes, too, the one of suspicion and mistrust. He had thought Bariyan a friend, but perhaps that judgment was preemptive.

He had shed the armor today, though he still carried Byfrost--he had no choice in that matter. Instead, Koltira had put on his one good suit: black with grey pinstripes, well-tailored, over a black tie and a blue silk shirt. Leather gloves covered his hands and dark sunglasses hid his eyes. There was nothing to be done about his ears or the cracked skin of his face, unfortunately.

The dreadplate was in an ominously glowing pile back in his room. He had decided that it was neither necessary nor wise to wear it while simply walking about the city, but he missed its weight and presence as he worked his way through the as-yet sparsely populated bar. When Koltira slid into the booth across from Bariyan, he folded his hands one over the other on the table, feeling awkwardly prim.

"Evening," he said, with no particular inflection.