Completely Legal Dealings of a Non-Threatening Nature
Thomas was a man of reason, not of passionate arguments. He preferred to fight with words, not fists. His wit was his greatest weapon, and considering that what he might consider normal footwear to be was commonly 'heels', that may be an apt decision on his part.
The bar itself was not one to lend itself to Thomas's 'type', per se. No, there were not many places outside a opulent hall filled with frills, dresses, frocks, coats and overly thought out sentences peppered with vocabulary that made no sense that suited the young man of the Mela family. But, these times were demanding of his time and more so, his ability to innovate and change. Technology was hard to come by, and very particular parts were even harder to purchase.
The bar itself was the normal amount of dark and dank to make it easily considered a 'dive', but there weren't quite enough 'shady figures' to give the hooded young man enough extremely dirty looks to get him to back himself back up the way he had come in. Aside from that, those heeled shoes seemed to clack against the dirty floors with an ungodly sense of purpose. Thomas was cloaked, yes, and hooded along with it, but it did nothing to cover the frills of his overcoat, or the stark white stockings of his legs. You could never seem to take the debutante out of this particular breed of fop, no matter how many layers of 'mysterious' he tried to wear over it.
He leaned back against the counter, trying to look natural, failing miserably. So much for subtlety.
