[ Who fired ordered the first shot?

Reno, that's who.

Listen. He has priorities. And he saw to them already. He hasn't been able to contact his partner, his boss, or literally anyone else whose number he has in his phone that doesn't work, and he's already done his intel-gathering asking around. In situations where you've been separated from your crew, the best thing to do is pick a spot and wait. The inn is as good a one as any, considering that it seems to be the place where everyone who's anyone are shuffled to. And it just so happens that while he's there, waiting, there's a bar. And where there's a bar, there's people who'll come to drink. And where there's people, there's more information. And a much-needed distraction.

So yeah, Reno shoots the first shot. And then starts handing them out to everyone else, and now here they are. He's racking up a tab he might not ever be able to pay off, but if you're one of the more early-arrivers, don't worry about ordering: the redhead's gotchu. The moment you sit down at the bar, a tankard with, metaphorically, your name on it slides down your way, and there's Reno giving a two finger salute and a nod. Unless you talk to him first, he'll even leave you be to enjoy it for a minute. But not for long. After you've had that one, maybe another, that's when he slides over to start digging for dirt, cleverly disguised as small-talk (or maybe casual flirting). ]

So. You been in Aldrip long?

[ So maybe you managed to ignore the commotion until about midway into the night, when suddenly there's a rapidfire rapping on your door and a voice calling out, hey, come join the party! If you're quick to open the door, you might just manage to glimpse a glimpse of a red ponytail flicking around the corner, but the little shit responsible for disturbing the peace is a fast little shit, so there's no time to catch him before he's gone.

But, like, I mean, how many redheads are there in Aldrip anyways?

Down in the tavern, Reno's easy to spot. Flaming red hair, a barely-buttoned black suit, now loudly and animatedly engrossed in some gambling game at one of the back tables. He arrived here with a pack of smokes that he's been conservatively burning through all night, and he taps the ashes off into an empty tumbler glass while someone else at the table takes their turn rolling the dice.

Maybe you're here to wring his neck for bothering you. Or maybe you're genuinely here to join the game. Or maybe it's something else. Either way, Reno looks up as a newcomer approaches and gestures, cig between two fingers, at an empty seat next to him. ]

You want in? Put somethin' in the pot and grab a seat, we're just getting started!

[ Alright, fine, so he's not dancing. Probably did some of that earlier, though. But he is standing up on a table, and there's a really good reason for that: it's because a fight's broken out (blame the two idiots with swords) and Reno, not one not to stick his nose in someone else's business, feels the need to commentate like a wrestling announcer. One guy gets his lights punched out and Reno lets out a sympathetic ohhh! into the empty bottle he's using as a "microphone," the table underneath him rocking from side to side as he shifts around on it so that he doesn't miss a moment of the brawl.

It's fine. He's a pretty lightweight guy. Not a lightweight when it comes to the alcohol, so much, but yeah, he's got a pretty good buzz going, too. ]

Man, this guy's unstoppable! Isn't anyone gonna give him a real fight? Anybody? Hey, what about—you? Yeah, you! You with the hair! You look like you know a thing or two about kickin' ass.

[ He probably doesn't actually think that. Or maybe he does. Who knows. At this point, he's just trying to keep the action going for his own entertainment. Either way, how can you say no to that encouraging grin? Never mind the dude he's trying to set you up to fight with who is fully knocking people out with a chair. That's not important. ]

C'mon, I hear there's a prize for the winner.

[ No there isn't. ]