Beren leaned his chair back slightly, resting it's corner against the edge of the wall, trusting his weight to the, hopefully, two strong legs. He surveyed the man Falco had pointed out, looking him up and down. His ill-kempt appearance was something Beren never took at face value, after all, his own appearance when entering the dragon made this new-comer look like a high Steward on the throne.
"Well, as far as travelers go, he's not terribly ill-looking, I'd say. A bit rough around the edges, but his speech isn't harsh, as some ruffians I've met has. He hasn't offended any of us, and that's something I hold rather high." Beren stared smugly at the hobbit, having said his opinion. He knew Falco had judged him purely on his appearence, and discerning that his assumption was wrong wasn't going to please him one bit.
"I won't judge the man on appearance, my good man," stated Beren, "considering his own current is better than mine when I came in. I think we're just better to hear his story out, and see what he has to say, before we come up with any ideas about his character. And, until then, I think I'll be having more wine." Beren took the glass sitting in front of him, and downed it post-haste, it's contents flowing warmly into him. Generally, he shyed from the stuff, but this wasn't the road anymore, and he didn't need his wits at the sharpest at all times.
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