Miercoles left the man to rest and headed to the tavern which was designed to contain all these mercenaries. Sure they were being called heroes but as he approached the tavern which under the moonlight had its wooden sign swaying in the breeze with "Tavern of Heroes" engraved and painted into it he rolled his eyes. They were just hired muscle plain as that. Any "heroism" would be byproduct of their orders save for maybe a rare few with noble intentions which he figured would be rare. 

Stepping through the door he made his way through the crowd who were many and seemed more than ready for a little bit of entertainment. However he stopped cold the moment he saw and heard Vance. He appeared behind him with hand with a vice like grip clawed onto that injured shoulder making his displeasure clearly made. A most evil of presence made itself known as his voice flowed coldly yet with venom, "Let it be known I hate having my time wasted like with that stunt you pulled off after having acted like you had been greatly injured. Now you're either well or injured, and I prefer the latter since if we fail the next assignment it will be solely your fault for not fully recovering. Now excuse me I have some [i]real money[/i] to make." 

With shoulder free from that terrible grip he walked away temporarily blending into the crowd of people. Pure instinct guided him to the stage of sorts it had as he dropped the box and readied some instruments. He strummed the guitar to ensure it was properly tuned and finding it satisfactory began to play something that was neither to slow to bore and annoy them or put them to sleep nor too fast that would incite even more rowdiness  leave him ignored and without pay.