[b][u]Feather Funds | Dojoville, Undisclosed Cafe[/u][/b] [spoiler]For Pants or any faction leaders I guess.[/spoiler] Mason leaned back in his seat, waiting for his clients. His crutch was leaned against a spare chair meticulously, with his the brace he wore on his right leg hidden under the wooden surface of the table. The aging man could almost pass as a normal citizen rather than a cripple. Well, the definition of [i]normal[/i] was a far cry from an average townsperson in the Dojo. People of all sorts of races and backgrounds carried weapons of all kinds for the Dojo's norm of fighting. He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. He knew he wasn't there for that. Mason Cartier's fighting days were long over, and not just because of his crippled leg. A cripple was the equivalent of a unicorn in the Dojo, since there were so many alternatives like mechanical augments and healing magic. Strange, to say the least. But not unreasonable. Alas, he wasn't there to reflect on the nature of the Dojo. He was there for a business deal. Well, a deal at the very least, anyways.