So, here is the tale:
The man entered the bar so quietly it was as though a light wind had gently rocked the doors. He wasn’t inside, then he was. He stood there silently. Observing the room from the shadows. The room housed a collection of dark tables and booths deep in shadow. To his right, a bar ran the gamut of the room until ending in a kitchen door, and to his left dark and distorted windows lined the wall, displaying the street outside. At the far end of the room, a roaring fire flickered and sent out the warmth bathing the room. Various patrons sat at tables, ignored him and drank their drinks in silence.
Suddenly a sound jerked his head around to the bar, and he saw as the bottles appeared to move on their own, tilted, poured a drink into a glass and sent it down the bar to a waiting serving girl: a ghostly barman, no concern.
Apparently satisfied, he walked directly to a table and sat down. From the shadows, a women came to join him. He kept his right hand below the tabletop, gripping his nearest knife as she sat.
“I see you’re pleased to see me,” she said, noting the hand.
“Heard about a job, big shot gangster, putting together a crew.”
She arched an eyebrow, “Yes?”
He squinted at her, “What do you think?”
She sat back and folded her arms, saying nothing.
“Yeah, what do you know?” He asked.
“You look good,” she replied, “a little rough around the edges…”
“I’ve been up north”.
“With your dwarves?”