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“Your drinks,” the bartender says with a smooth and melodic voice. He places their drinks onto the table and makes a move to walk away.
“What’s your name?” Kinn asks before he can stop himself. He’s not used to being ignored, everyone always jumps at the opportunity to talk to him. He’s known to be a great tipper in the places he often visits so the staff are usually all over him.
The bartender stops and shoots him a look. A look that is full of irritation as if Kinn offended him with the question.
“Why? You need it to enjoy your drink, rich boy?” The bartender asks, cocking an eyebrow with an oversweet smile.
Kinn raises an eyebrow of his own, assessing the guy with a look. There’s no watch on his wrist, the shirt is white and ill fitted, the material looking kind of stiff which means it’s on the cheaper side. The shoes have seen better days, same can be said about the dress pants. The jab about Kinn being a ‘rich boy’ is pretty clear that the guy has some kind of problem with people with money. It’s okay, Kinn can deal with that.
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