Eight scraggly legs scratched at the glass, trying to crawl up a thin line of silk. Such a little body of black seemed so defenseless and worth not more than a piece of lint. Yet, the strength and determination in this creature was inspiring. The arachnid crawled up to its freshly spun web, settling in for the evening from a hard day of work. And then, the worst part came as everything vigorously shook beneath its disturbing limbs. Silent screams and sudden movement came from the flustered insect, so frightened and so vulnerable. Deep hazelnut eyes blankly stared forward as the spider's fall occurred before them. Such amusing tragedy. A smirk curled at the lips of the young man while he leaned beside the window, dusting off the now criminal hand against his white and black checkered button down. Taking one last hit before he would turn on the bright red sign outside, the smoke was held against his pearly, ever so pointed chompers. Squeaky black boots sounded out against the wooden floorboards while his body twirled around to face the rest of the tavern. It really shaped up well over the years, making the male proud to call it his own. Flicking the worn out object between his index and middle fingers away into a trashcan, it was time to open the place up for the night. For the tall, lanky body at 6'3'', a few steps were all it took to reach the front door and switch the outer sign to "On". Deizel found himself adjusting his gray suspenders while he moseyed on behind the counter. He could see his own pale reflection staring back at him in the clean, shining chestnut counter top. Smoothing one hand along the fixed up pompadour of dark brown strands on his head, his thoughts were calm and collected. Of course, business had just opened for the long night ahead of him. As always, however, the creature was prepared to handle it all. Reaching down below in one motion he had slung a wash cloth over his left shoulder and grasped a mug in his right hand. Every night seemed to have some sort of excitement at The Iron Ale. Whether it was in the form of hazy individuals, clouded over by too much to drink down, or the form of a brawl. Anything goes for a night at the tavern. Diz grinned such a wide set of whites as his rag went to work against the cool glass. He was looking forward to the possibilities of the new night.