// Sorry I'm late to the party, girls!<img alt=":p" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite7" data-shortname=":p" loading="lazy" src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" title="Stick Out Tongue    :p"/><br/><br/>Suddenly the door to the 'Nag swung open, the icy winter air outside clawing its way into the smut filled air and causing all who're not cold of blood to shiver. "Close the fucking door!" cried one particularly disgruntled man, half standing from his table and almost tossing the whore in his lap off onto the floor. The figure attracting such disdain from the Nag's patronage simply smiled from under his hood, the clouds of snow sitting atop the wolven fur quickly starting to melt and trickle down the grey hairs. Shutting the door quietly behind him, the new arrival gently pulled his hood back to let the remaining snow be deposited at the doorstep, giving his shoulders a quick, sharp shake to dislodge any hidden icicles before finally stepping into the warmth of the room and surveying the scene. His bright, sun like eyes scanned the heads of the various figures visiting the brothel at this late hour. Fat faced farm hands, gaunt and dirty looking guards, there was the occasional passable face but the general populace seemed to be "below average" in his own opinion. All save for the particularly exotic and extravagant looking morsels sat at a table not too far from the entryway. Once some colour had finally returned to his once snow white cheeks he shared a handsome, carefree smile with the two girls, not really paying mind to wait and see if they catch his attention.<br/><br/>Padrin made his way over to the bar while slowly removing his wet fur cloak, taking a detour to the open hearth fire in the middle of the room and leaving it by the for a moment to let it dry. Once he arrived at his destination the elf took a stool for his own and made himself comfortable, loosening the fine leather string that kept his tunic tied and unveiling more of the eye-catching artwork that covers his face and neck. Even from across the room such markings could be made easily distinguished on such a pale looking canvas. He knew some would likely look upon him with mistrust, wearing such a barbaric visage. But he cared little for the concerns of the lame and the common. He liked the tattoo's and many others had proclaimed their fondness of them, so he was content. Soon his thoughts turned away from the vanity of others and himself, instead focusing on how dry his throat had become after travelling in the icy winter air. He cleared his throat in preparation for speech, giving a gentle rap on the table with his rather large fist incase his voice wasn't able to garner enough attention.<br/>"Anyone serving here, or do they have the bar girl courting a customer now? I could use a drink here."