Bru slouches by the door, his beefy frame barely contained by his armor. His thick fingers picks at his ear as he waits for the punter to be done, squinting at every passer-by. Bru looks like a real bastard. It's his best talent, and he uses it as much as he can.
The usual muffled sounds leaked through the door, but Bru paid it no mind. Long as there wasn't any trouble, his part of the job was over. It wasn't complicated.
When they first came to Westcrown, Dolça got him a broken adventurer's sword, a fake magic helmet, some leather that polished up well.. Was necessary, she'd said. Rich people won't respect a pander who's not halfway an adventurer. And Bru always has an eye for the law. Probably someone's gonna take exception to their little business, at some point.
Bru sees them boys coming a mile off. He shifts his weight, causing the floorboards to creak in protest, the signal given, but they simply pass by.
He he keeps an eye out for them leaving too, with the little priestess in 'cuffs. Cleaning house? Bru scratches his stubbly chin. He doesn't say much, but this is the kinda thing their kinda people are gonna want to know about.
Before the sun's much lower, they're telling Raimon.