[Tyki even took a vacation from his little hut in the jungle-woods to come back to the bar, still dirt stained and grungy. But behind the bar on a stool he's setting up an appointment with a mirror, a bowl of water and a straight razor. It helps that he's got someone else tending the bar, but let's just say he's there for support as well. Nobody threatens his murderbro with a soul.
Dragging the razor against his skin, he looks over.] Pour me a whiskey, eh?