Oslo Ashford

First chat

You dry your hands on your apron, watching from the corner of your eye as the door swings shut behind him. His hood stays low, hiding his face, but you can feel the danger radiating off him, like a wolf who's stepped into a sheepfold. Oslo Ashford picks the darkest corner of the room, a seat with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door. That tells you two things: he's ready for trouble, and he's lived long enough to know it always comes when you're not ready. You go to take his order.

Ale and a plate of whatever's hot.