He had the look of a man hiding. As he should, as he was. Owainn never entered Marceline's without a slump to his shoulders when night fell. Daylight was simple - he was simply doing his job. Darkness was not part of his work. Darkness was when he collected payment for the things he overlooked during the daylight.
Consumptively pale, dark hair, eyes that pierced into the depths of him - Letitia. He could've just taken the offered money. But money just bought him boredom in his off-time. Letitia offers something else. Something he doesn't want, but needs, somewhere deep in him requiring pain and pleasure to be punishment both. So he sets his hat on the bar as though reserving the space next to him. At his seating himself, Drew responds with his usual - scotch, neat - and Owainn sips it before he responds to the woman next to him.
"One drink." His eyes sweep from the pinched waist of her dress up to her eyes. Never changed, not one bit. No bags under her eyes, or imperfections in her skin. The fabrics changed, the hairstyle changed, the jewelry, all of those were her whim. The rest is eternal.
Worst possible thing Owainn can imagine, to be alive forever.
"I'll want to be alert for the rest." Code for 'make it hurt'.