The van creaks as Henway climbs out of it, the suspension sighing in relief as the half ton of troll removes his bulk from the vehicle. He looks up and down the dead end street, noting the smells, the trash, the dumpster and the half lit sign. He mutters to nobody in particular as he slings his bag over his shoulder, It's like bein' at fraggin home. Same drek, different city.
Entering the Mended Drum behind Forty, he ignores the patrons who look up as the door opens, looking instead towards the bartender who looks over the large troll and simply nods towards the path to the storage room. The cook does the same as Henway passes through his domain, and he finally reaches his destination.
Glancing around, Henway grins at the others present as he unslings his bag and sets it next to the table. He considers each of the chairs before settling into a cross legged position on the floor, placing his back against a wall. Ain't none of dem gonna hold me up, chummer, he comments with a look towards Angus. Not ta worry, I'm kinda used ta sittin' on da floor when I ain't standin'.