@studiomnivorous
Aras wasn't going to argue with cold hard cash; he slipped the glass across the table to the thirsty patron with one hand, and the other copper hand palmed the pieces off the counter in a smooth motion. The observant might notice that the coins never made it much farther than that - certainly not to a register - but rather seemed to evaporate somewhere within the folds of his workapron. The otherwise occupied might simply catch that he gave the same thinned smile to the woman's request; it was the sort of expression of someone caught now doing a favor they felt fairly unequipped to do, but who was going about it regardless, and certainly not with any great desire.
He turned towards the closest door leading to the back room. "I'll see what I can rustle up." He paused, then glanced back over his shoulder, the motion causing a bit of dark hair to slip loose of the thick braid. The fingers tapped thoughtfully on the wood. "And, ah, in the meantime: if that barkeep comes back, please tell him he still owes me for the fixywork earlier." Or I'll take it apart as neatly as I put it together, he thought to himself. The grey eyes hardened briefly, the wet slick rock of an impassable cliff, then turned away, settling in a long blink of frustration as he pushed through the door, fingers rising to pinch the bridge of the narrow Weaver's nose in a gesture of annoyance.
…Very much like a jack-turn-lightly, nearly no sooner had Aras disappeared, did the bulk of the barkeep heave himself through the other door from the far side of the room. The man threw a circumspect survey at the recently closed kitchens door, then - as if remembering himself - swept looks out at the sudden crowd of patrons. A hesitant smile. Whatever the man was up to, it was obvious he was definitely avoiding the Weaver.