Dingy isn't Izzy's idea of a good time, but he isn't here looking for a good time. Not exactly. He's here because he's in the middle of a disgusting, ragged dive of self destruction and this random encounter sets his teeth on edge.

He nearly leaves the bloke hanging, but ultimately decides that he hates himself just enough to see it through. If it goes badly then he'll leave. It's as simple as that.

So he arrives five past, quietly, and takes a look at the clientele. The place is lively but not too lively. Just enough that the cast glances at his arrival don't start anything on the immediate. This isn't his territory and he is without his gang, so a man alone could mean any manner of wild cards.

The only person that looks remotely familiar is a man sitting at the bar, so he heads that way, intercepted immediately by the barmaid from who he orders a double measure rum. Neat. Old habits'n all that dross.

"Arthur?" as he perches against the bar, not quite decided if he'll sit. A man of small stature, but great power if that makes sense. He's all harsh angles and hard work from the lean of his lip to the grey in his temples and beard. Say nothing of the branding under his left eye or the swallow on his neck, just peaking up from the collar of his black dress shirt.