<div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/0/02/%22Rat%22.jpeg)</div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>"Rat" Ratcliff Vander (http://"Rat" Ratcliff Vander)</strong></span>"What's this I hears about something dead still walking?" The rolling gait of the dwarf easily uses the walls, lower rungs on the barstools and even the kickrail of the bar to maneuver smoothly through the room, obviously flat surfaces are not a requirement for him. The high stool held no challenge for him as he stepped to the bar rail, grapped the bartop and quickly stirruped the hanging whip at the hip of Amalea Legend, his hand hovering precariously over the D-cup shelf, though not needing the balance, he settles into the seat, a wink at the lovely. As he reaches out and plucks a 'fatboy' cigar from behind her hair. The tindertwig sparking in his hand from the rough edges of his thumbnail. The acrid smoke curls around and obscuring his face, the smile that emerges from the cloud, full of dark humor for the days to come, though the lingering aroma has a certain appeal. "So, uh, you got any shackles to go with that whip?" The meaning in his words could not be more clear.