At least Eddy didn't laugh, and at least Luke was able to keep the drink down-- he didn't drink much, let alone anything like what he'd just had, but the young man wasn't an alcohol virgin, and that helped currently.  He gladly took the refill, letting his fingertips slide around the rim of the glass, and found his gaze focusing on the bartender's own hands.  Huge, worn from work (what kind? Who knew), the fingers twice as thick as his own... calloused and more than a little mangled, they intrigued Luke, made him wonder what they used to do.  Maybe they'd made things, created and built...<br/><br/>His attention was pulled back when the man spoke, looking him in the eyes with that rain-colored stare, and he let out a soft sound of amusement.  Not quite a laugh, but close; enough to warm his features, round the edges and ease the tiredness.  "I'm not great company.  And you should've opened your bar in a busier street, if you wanted more people to talk to."  Not exactly a critique, it was meant more like a joke, and Luke hoped it came off right.<br/><br/>He took a sip; this time it didn't set him to hacking up a lung, instead gliding down and gently burning deeper, the heat settling in his chest.  Luke's gaze caught on the tattoos again, and he tentatively motioned at the sword on the inside of Eddy's upper arm, tilting his head just a little as he examined it.  The image looked so familiar, kept bugging him.  "Cool tattoos.  What's that one...?"