[Mikhail Vashael]

Sitting back slowly, the tall Vagaran held his gaze on the woman's face, kneck and shoulders. As she started speaking then shifting body language, the Butcher slipped a long cigar out from his coat pocket then struck a tinderstick against the booth wall.
Inhaling to light the tobacco, he shook the match out calmly while returning his eyes across the table. The dark haired boy offered both of them tea, forcing Vashael to smile politely as his only response, but from the lack of interest it was obviously a pass.

"Visiting? Pleasure or Business.. from the sour look crossing your face I'd say all of the latter and not near enough of the former."

Reclining against the bench, Vashael blew out a long trail of smoke and scanned his eyes through the crowd for a change, looking for the telltale signs of scrutiny. This woman was stalling. Her mind was preoccupied, it was obvious. By the way the Maiden occassionaly flinched, he wagered the cause was much nearer then she'd like.

The Vor ashed the tobacco on the floor then tilted slightly over the table on his nearest elbow.

"Call me Michael."
The edges of his lips curled into an tiny smile, eyes squinting but bright and crystal clear as the light reflected through the depth of blue.
The Butcher nodded, vision unwavering then leaned back and took another sip of wine. Withdrawing the warmth as the formalities concluded, Vashael returned to his smoke. The last name of the Elf vibrated through his skull... his instincts were dead on. This wench would be his payout tonight, a strong certainty filled him and wouldn't shake.
Now to find that leverage..