<div class="floatleft"><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;"><strong>M<br/>A<br/>R<br/>C<br/>U<br/>S</strong></span></div></div><div class="floatleft"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">  <br/>  <br/>  <br/>  <br/>  <br/>  </span></div><hr/><hr/>Marcus was quick to offer the menu, pulling it from his back pocket.  He waited for the man to find what he liked -- of his grand total of five items, scribbled onto what seemed to be a leaf from his ledger -- then was swift to deliver it.  Like most food of the age, it had been sitting for some time, waiting for a mouth to feed, but at least mouths came often at the inn; Driskoll's particular meal had only been made the day before.  He expected payment before setting the meal before him.<br/><br/>He'd just turned to head off when he was stopped and asked to tend to his horse.  He made a face, but nodded nonetheless, heading back behind the bar.  He caught his busboy and had him do the dirty work, instructing him to charge Driskoll when he finished.<br/><br/>This was a bloody inn, not a stable.<br/><hr/><hr/><hr/><div align="center">LOCATION * BEHIND THE BAR<br/>TAGGING * DRISKOLL</div>