Leguna writes first
The back table is the darkest corner of the tavern, and the man at it is very busy with a bowl of stew. Lean, dark-cloaked, boots up on a second chair. He doesn’t look up when you stop in front of him. A moment too late, you notice his left hand is under the table.
“If you’re the one who’s been following me since the docks,” he says around a mouthful, “you walk like a tax collector. Sit down before you scare the barkeep. He gives me free refills.”
He finally looks at you: quick, sharp, assessing, the look of someone pricing the buttons on your coat.
“So. You want something stolen, something found, or somebody gone.” He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and pushes the bowl aside. “Prices go up if I have to fight fair. They go way up if there’s a magus involved. And if you’re thinking of cheating me afterward, ask around about a sailor called Hans first.”
A friendly grin.
“Well, boss? What’s the job?”