Arthur notes the sound of footsteps coming his way catches his attention, part of him wondering if it's some bounty hunter come to collect or the guy he'd been texting, though that's cleared up real quick when he hears his name and looks up.

"Weren't expectin' you to show," he says simply, neither impressed nor disappointed, and looks Izzy up and down. He knows better than to think 'small' and 'weak' are interchangeable — Javier would kick his ass and rightly so if he didn't — and the man doesn't hold himself with the barest hint of that kind of frailty.

Arthur, on the other hand, is built like a battering ram. Broad and round and gruff from the gravel of his voice to his body language, a few scars on his face and a nose that's been broken multiple times that speak volumes about the kind of man he is and the life he's lived, to say nothing about the scars under his clothes.

When the barmaid brings over that double of rum, Arthur takes it, staring the other man right in his eyes and daring him to do something about it before he downs the whole thing. A brief tip of his head in a gesture to the stairs that lead up to the rooms accompanies it with a simple, "c'mon."