"Yes, let's not dawdle,"
nods Harafass, ushering you inside. "After all, it's five bells somewhere, isn't it?"
The halfling leads you into the barrel-like Grindhouse, where a cacophany of sound greets you as you enter through the swinging front double doors of the establishment. You find yourselves in a big, bustling dining room that's absolutely swarming with dwarves- some dining, some politely sipping tea and others pounding down ale and shots, others darting back and forth between the tables carrying trays laden with sizzling meat and frothing mugs of spirits.
The room boils with conversation and oaths, drowning any chance of speaking with Harafass, much less hearing yourself think.
Making his way purposefully through the ruckus, Harafass guides you across the restaurant melee and up a winding, creaking staircase at the back of the room. You feel it curving as you ascend, and realize that you're making your way up toward the top of the Grindhouse.
After a short climb, Harafass comes to a solid oak door with a copper number "3" stamped into its center. Producing a set of jingling keyring, the halfling selects a large, brass key turning green with age, then inserts it into the door's luck and turns it sharply.
"Private room number three, gentlemen, here we are."
Harafass pushes open the door to reveal a warm, inviting with an oaken table and several highback chairs. Dwarven tapestries and the heads of various wild game adorn the walls, and you see that a fire has been lit in the small alcove hearth over in the corner. Sunlight filters into the cozy quarters through a window on the north side of the room, though you note that there seems to be a sturdy-looking lattice of iron bars across the outside of the pane.
"Well, then, gentlemen, I'll leave you to your cups and business,"
says Harafass, bowing with a flourish. "I'll return with your drinks in just a moment."
With that, the halfling turns and scampers back down the stairs, leaving the rest of you alone.