Sitting in a corner away from the rest of the fallen haven, Eric observes those who pass by, watching for something. Unsure what it is, or why, he simply watches it. The dusty floor around him has managed to show itself on his coat. The only weapon seen is his sword, the sword that never leaves his side. Sitting cross legged it's able to lay in front of him, looking like a retainer in the days of old. Training had stuck, habits were hard to break, and violence was just life. Being here, in this spot, for hours he hadn't seen much, aside from the local scumbags and vagrants. People he didn't care to speak to. The one old man asked for coin, but thought it better to not wait for a response. Eric had the coin to spare, but didn't want to reveal this. Shifting his vest again, he felt he needed a drink, and decided it was time. Reaching forward with his left hand he grasped the Katana by the sheath and stood. Walking from the short alley he reaches out of the walkway catching a man by his neck, with a swift pull he is brought into the alley by the knife in Erics hand. A quick push-pull and his throat is split, the job was a success. There are people here not worth knowing, and others that are worth more dead. He was both, but sometimes it's a wonder whether or not it's their greed or hatred that gets them killed, or just the greed or hatred of the buyer. Doesn't matter, he needs a drink...
"Now, where's the bar..."
((I swear, but I just don't give a ********]