A few moments of silence follow Leon's sudden entrance.  The jennies all turn, blinking.  The servers stop where they are, some in mid stride.  The large Vendel man seems to have been interrupted in mid bite.  His fork is held frozen in front of him, meat still impaled upon it, his mouth open, his eyes staring.<br/><br/>It is the bartender who Leon approaches, and who recovers first.  His face contorts as he frowns in an expression of profound confusion.  "My lord?"  He says, his tone uncertain.  "Your favorite?  Do you mean..."  He takes a quick glance at the jennies, but bites his lip; a misstep could mean his life, and by the expression on his face, he clearly knew it.  "I'm sorry, I don't know anyone by that name, not who has come here, anyway.  My aunt's name is Isabella..."  He trails of, embarrassed by the inanity of his statement.<br/><br/>One of the servers, who Iolanda will recognize as the helpful one from before, comes forward, attempting to gently guide Leon back to the table.  "Please, sir, this way."  He gestures, but is not willing to touch the angry swordsman.  The table, as attention is drawn to it, can be seen not only to have the wine and pair of glasses Iolanda ordered earlier, but also a folded piece of paper, its corner stuck under the wine bottle.