[Fallen_Snow]

The old bar was quiet today, quieter than usual. It's sign, palely stating The Watering Hole in worn-out white against chipped away navy, swung against the light breeze, squeaking a protest every now and again. The youngish men inside were burly and surly, hunching their shoulders and keeping to themselves. They held their drinks close, as if afraid someone may steal it from under them or siphon their beer away while they weren't looking. An older man of about 40 sat at the worn and out of tune piano, plunking away at a short and repetitive melody. All was calm and still--everyone knew where their place was, and today just didn't seem the day to give up that comfort.

That is, until he walked in.

It wasn't that Sepya Metlon wasn't expected. His sudden return after his mysterious disappearance wasn't lost upon those that lived in the Slums. He made things harder for them; his expertise and precision in carrying out tasks making him a much better and more trustworthy choice. He had found work in helping the monks of the Nu'san Temple uncover some older relics lost to time and reassemble some old machinery that had been forgotten about over the years, but everyone knew that he would become bored of that. Sepya Metlon wasn't a man to keep still--his restlessness was what made him a great treasure hunter. But he had been branching out recently, and using his treasure hunting skills for something else.

Tugging a small bag off his belt, he dropped it on the bar. The rattling of heavy Keystones echoed around the bar. The air and all the bodies encased within it stiffened.

"I'm lookin' for a man named Monfer. Who's seen 'im?"

[Fallen_Snow]

The men didn't look at Sepya, but they couldn't help but glance at the sum left unguarded in front of him.

"I know you know how much is there, but in case you don't: 300 Keystones. Someone's lips are gonna loosen, and if they do, you get this." Sepya pointed at it, swinging around to face the rest of the bar. "And no funny business. But you wouldn't try that on a Metlon anyways, now would you?" he asked silkily. The air felt warmer now; people were feeling the invigoration of a new offer.

"I'll say it again: Monfer. I'm lookin' for him. Anyone wanna give me a clue? A hint? Be my little birdie for a minute?"

No one in the bar moved. Sepya stared at each man in the bar, counting. There were seven in total, if he counted the man at the piano and the bartender, which he did. If he didn't, he'd lose his edge. He always expected more than what would come to prepare himself, it was what made him a good fighter and a good treasure hunter. It's what got him answers quick. If he had to break a few bones or minds to get it, well, so be it. What was important was getting things done, and done his way. There wasn't much of any other option anyways.

When the door swung open, Sepya smirked.

[Fallen_Snow]

Donnie stopped in the doorway, frozen. A grisly looking man leaned against the bar, his gray-blue eyes staring at him intently. The smirk that stretched his lips made Donnie feel wary. The man at the piano looked over, his own dark brown eyes gentle and worn, and without a flicker of recognition turned back to the keys, plunking away at a song people had given up caring about.

"Donnie, m'boy, come on in." The man at the bar said with a smile, his slightly yellow teeth short and straight. Like a Rattegan, Donnie thought, or maybe a Staigovald.

Donald sat down, making himself comfortable on a stool next to the friendly man. He took note of the old bag resting on the bar. He could only assume that there was a large sum in there, judging by how the bag bulged. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the bar, and whistled a tuneless song that blended in with the monotonous tinkling of the piano. The man just kept smiling at him, prolonging the moment before he began to speak again. Donnie was familiar with this technique, but wasn't prepared for him to use it. He felt himself fidgeting without thought: running a finger over his eyebrow, straightening his jacket, rubbing the corner of his belt buckle with a fingertip.

Finally, the man patted him on the shoulder and said, "I heard you're in the business of findin' people."

Donnie let out a breath of relief. He thought for sure that this was going to be the type of situation where he was mistaken for someone who owed a lot of people some money. That mistaken identity crisis happened a lot around here, though no one really seemed to care--as long as they got their money, there was no problem, as far as they were concerned.

"I wonder if you could tell me whereabouts Wes Monfer might be."

Oh, so it's that kind of situation.

Donnie sighed, and the man, seeing his discomfort, pushed the Keystones a little closer. "Oh, come now, don't be so quick to dismiss. I come bearing gifts."

Donnie pushed the sack away, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid that that is somewhat of an impossibility. See, Wes Monfer--"

"--owes me a favor," the man finished, his eyes suddenly becoming hard. He reached in the bag and pulled out the large 100 Keystone stone, gripping it tightly. He placed it lightly against the bar, still gripping it tightly. His knuckles were white with the strain.

"Now, let's try this, one more time. And so everyone can hear me," he said suddenly, projecting his voice so that it filled the whole bar. The piano man stopped and stared blankly, and the rest of the men gave up their pretending and let their attention latch onto the man.

"I'm looking for a Wes Monfer. If any'a you know where to find him, speak now, or this kid gets it."

His arm was around Donnie's neck before he had time to react. The hold was tight, sure. Donnie thanked the gods that he didn't have asthma. He felt the cool of the rock against his scalp, and warmth of the man's fingertips brush his forehead. He calmed his heart rate as best he could, but it was hard to feel safe when a strange, fairly strong man threatens to bludgeon your skull open with money.

"I... I..." Donnie wheezed, tugging at the arm around his neck, "I know... Monfer... living..."

The man sitting at the bar glared at Donnie as the man let go, still holding the Keystone to his forehead. The hand attached to the arm that had been sleeperholding Donnie now held his shoulder tightly. The man was all smiles again, though he did not move the stone. His brow arched, giving Donnie the go-ahead.

[Fallen_Snow]

"Do you?" Sepya said after a minute, smiling kindly at the boy. "I do wish you would share."

Donnie hesitated, nervously watching Sepya's hands and the bag of Keystones. "Depends. Are you going to threaten me again? Because I can help you, but I'd prefer to do it in one piece."

Sepya laughed. "Son, I just need the information. I'm not asking ya to marry me. I'm asking for... a deal." He pulled a few of the Keystones out of the bag and pushed them in front of Donnie. "150 Keystones now, and 150 after I find Monfer. Care to share?" he asked. Donnie pocketed the money slowly, his tongue sliding against his cheek in thought.

Donnie reached over the bar and, finding order slips, pulled one off and took what looked to be a rotting pencil off the desk. He quickly scribbled an address.

"He doesn't go by Monfer anymore, though. Just Wes. Don't make any mention at all about his family. And, lastly--this is very important--don't approach him at this address. Wait in the outskirts along the path, then follow him when he goes to the river nearby to talk to him. He doesn't like people knowing where he lives, and would prefer his address was kept a secret. I'd prefer it, too--I'd lose his business. He moves when too many people know where to find him. Too many debts, I suspect."

A small smirk twitched across Sepya's face. "Thank you, son. Here," he said casually, grabbing the bag and dropping it in Donnie's lap, "keep the change."

[Fallen_Snow]

Donnie was going to say thank you (his parents, well, they hadn't raised him to be polite, really they hadn't raised him at all, but whenever he was with them even though the visits were brief, his father always told him to be polite), but the man had already exited the doors, leaving them swinging behind him. Donnie shook his head. He needed to get out of this place; too many people didn't like him, and the ones that did never took the chance to get to know him. Was he really that rotten of a guy that people didn't wanna see around?

Sepya looked up and down the road, knowing that he had to go left for the direct route. Wanting something more scenic, he turned right and began walking. His pace was leisurely; he wasn't in any hurry. From the boy's information, Wes was in no hurry either. The man thought he was safe. Well, not once Sepya had the chance to talk to him.

The man had sat in the corner of the bar, watching the exchange, keeping quiet. He watched through the dirty window as the obviously seasoned traveler waltzed about like he was drunk. He was giddy with the power he had earned from the boy he paid off, it was clear to him.

Monfer pushed his glass of milk back and forth between his half-hand-half-paw monstrosities he hid under the long sleeves of his trenchcoat. After two minutes of watching the man be happy, Wes got up, chugged his milk, and left, throwing a keystone in the glass as a tip. Let's see what the man had to say for himself.