Thomas

In the far corner, a bearded man muttered, "Not from around here…"

A waitress, hardened by years of serving men who solved arguments with their fists, hesitated for a moment before forcing her legs to move. She approached slowly, wiping her hands on her apron.

"What'll it be?" she asked, with a flat voice. Apollo didn't look at her. His eyes roamed the tavern — not the people, but what hid behind them. Some faces were too calm. Too still. Pretending too hard to be drunk or indifferent. 

"I want to meet someone who knows well about the things around here." He said simply.

Hearing this, the waitress wasn't surprised. She gave a small, knowing smile and nodded.

"Thomas," she called out, turning her head toward the back of the tavern. "This gentleman wants a word with you."