"Heheh. Nothin' like a lil' o' that to get the veins flowin'!" Flynn announces with a pleased grin, clapping his hands and getting to his feet again. He winces a little as he looks at the remains of blood splattered on the table. Poor bastard. Should've known there ain't barely anyone around better with a knife than he was.
Blinking a little and remembering his task, Flynn swerves past the tables of drunkards, narrowly dodging some staggering fool blathering about someone else's mother being a tart. Jeez, this place sure was the pits - but at least the music was good... music... ah! Right! The pianist.
Trying to be as casual as possible as he walks up to the pianist, Flynn's eyes narrowly dart around before he slides next to the man playing the piano. Discreetly, Flynn tries not to interrupt the pianist's playing as he whispers in his ear:
"Yer' money's comin'. S' from my old lady, I think ye' know what I mean."
Flynn then slides away as casually as possible, although his interpretation of 'casual' looked like he was trying to perform a high-end drug deal.
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