This establishment was only an inn in the academic sense of the word. There was a bar, true, but the seedy atmosphere indicated what few rooms existed above weren't used for much more than flesh peddling. The room was musky, smelled like his past, after he ran from everything that happened in Salvar. Living between cities, hating everything and everyone, fighting in bloodsport matches wasn't really conducive to bathing. Filled with memories he had tried to leave behind these last five years, he scanned the room for threats, and tried to think out a way to get out if he needed to. A slash of red hair disappeared between two bodies, and John snapped himself out of it. He didn't need to overthink this. He had already made his decision about whether he could escape anything. He clutched the letter in his pocket and followed Rayleigh.

Despite her ability to weave between these burly dockworkers, John followed easily thanks to cautious steps away from people who glimpsed him. He grabbed the largest chair he could while they made their way to the hearth, and John wedged himself into it, close to Rayleigh so he could see both her and most of the barroom. He absently put his hand in his pocket, feeling the crumpled paper decrying him as a heretic and evil man. He wasn't sure what to make of it. He never really expected to leave all of that behind him with no consequences, but now that it was upon him, he felt like he couldn't think through it.

Regardless, he had the right of it now. He'd made the wrong decision in Salvar, and it was time to make the right one this time. Without even realizing it, he had pulled the paper from his pocket. Yes, when it came time to choose himself or his family, he knew what to do now. He caught the tail end of what Rayleigh was saying and looked up.

"I've been alright," he said, trying to keep his swamped thoughts from coming out in his words. "I've been staying busy with seeing Jamie lately, plus I've had some smithing business back in Radasanth, people commission me sometimes out there. I've got some business way out of Corone though, so I'm gonna be out for a while," he managed a weak smile.

"Lemme see about those drinks."

John got himself up from the chair, absently leaving the half-crumpled paper behind, and fought his way back near the bar, where a maid was working on filling glasses. She caught sight of him, and he threw a gold coin at her, which she caught and quickly put to her teeth. Satisfied, she pocketed the coin and looked up at him from behind the row of patrons.

"Three bottles of whatever whiskey that buys," he stated, turning. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked down to find a man, taller than most of the others in the bar, scowling at him. He growled, a hand resting on the handle of a sheathed long knife.

"Think you're gonna jump the line, eh?"

John squared up to the man and did his best to loom. He squared his shoulders and bent them almost over the man's head. He growled back in a gravely voice.

"You don't want to do that, friend."

A long moment of silence passed between them, but John's aggressor didn't flinch or cower, which in a way, John supposed that he respected. He backed down, pulling his hand from the knife handle.

"S'not polite, you know," he muttered, only then turning back to his barstool, which he had to defend from someone trying to poach it.

John turned, making his way back to the table he and Rayleigh shared.