<div class="floatleft"><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Irisandd Mott</div><div class="spoiler_body">(http://i286.photobucket.com/albums/ll98/thetragicfragments/naked_truth_by_anndr-d36e6o8.jpg)</div></div><strong>Tagging</strong>: Barkeep</div><br/><br/>Iris couldn't keep himself from looking quickly from face-to-face the moment he entered the pub, seeking out the threats among the drunkards. There were quite a few of interest - one one in particular that made him curse his usual luck. Of course his mark would be in here. When Iris had all but given up catching up to the man, he'd stumble across him. Not like he could act now. Well - he<em>could</em>, but he'd have to make a break for it. And his horse was being desaddled, so that would slow him down. And he'd not be able to have that bath his bones were practically weeping for -<br/><br/>Later. It would be much easier to do it in a few hours time. When his own stink didn't make being stealthy impossible.<br/><br/>Iris went to the bar, his aches making him move with a deal less grace than usual, and he rapped his knuckles on the bartop. "Does this place have a wash room?" he asked the barman once he had his attention.