Unlike either Silas or Lucifer, Roan truthfully believed that he was a boy who had never been born to hurt. His claws were not made for plunging into eyes or aiming at throats, but instead to simply cut bandages apart, and carefully reopen infected wounds. To some, his life would seem boring, and without meaning, but put quite simply, those people were stupid. Those were the simple minded warriors that thought themselves gods because they had size and strength on their sides. Yet, if there were no medics to support them, they would fall dead to the earth just as easily as their enemies. There was a sort of incredible power to that, even if Roan had never become a sage simply to feel powerful. He had just wanted to help others, even at a cost to himself. Put simply, the young feline wasn't sure he was even capable of hurting others, and it seemed certain that he would never have a situation such as Silas's, where instinct acted before mind. Some small part of his mind whispered, yes, you could. And yes, you have. However, he shoved that part away as he had done so many times before, ignoring the clenching feeling in his chest.

Having already been inside the tavern when Silas entered, Roan spared the other male merely a glance before he turned back to the game he had been playing, surrounded by others. While he had been going out less and less often lately in order to avoid growing too attached to anyone whose insides he'd have to put back together, he still occasionally made trips like this. Trips down to the tavern, where he would have some coffee and play some sort of game with those that were already there. Tonight it was poker, although he honestly wasn't sure he remembered all the rules of the game properly. Regardless, it was nice to have the bustle and the noise around him, to keep him grounded and remind him that he was alive. The energy of the caffeinated drinks he consumed helped, but it was hardly a proper substitution for interaction with other crewmates. His head snapped up when one of the other players waved anew in front of his face, kindly informing him that he had lost the little trinkets that he had bet on the game. He grumbled, but was secretly thankful that it hadn't been anything of real substance that he had lost. After all, it wasn't as if he would bet anything that really meant something to him, such as gifts from his mama, or his siblings.

With his game effectively ended, Roan found his interest piqued by Silas's very dour expression, as well as the other male that approached him first. Lucifer, if Roan was remembering that right. He could remember his uncle Michael telling him all about that little group's joining, caught up in the excitement and amazement of having such a beast and his pack arrive. Slipping out of his seat at the table, Roan made his way over to the bar with long strides, before leaping his way up to the seat beside Silas. He was aware of the fact that he was related to the other male, in some way. Cousins, he believed, seeing as he and Goldie were cousins as well. Still, he felt no connection with the other yet, given the relatively short span of time since his return. Glancing over at the pair, Roan looking between Silas and Luciferus before he spoke, having to raise his voice a little above the general chaos of the tavern around them, "Silas... you certainly look like you've seen better days. Did something happen?" He couldn't smell any blood on the air, so he pushed down the anxious feelings that welled up when he thought of Silas being injured, and choosing to hide it from everyone else. Choosing to remain calm for the moment, Roan simply wrapped his long tail about his paws, listening intently to what the other had to say.