Her brows raised slowly, eyes sliding up from her study of the table and moving over the figure of the man who stood before her. They drifted to the glasses in his hand, the bottle of warm amber liquid and then back to his face, her eyes meeting his.
She wasn't going to turn down a drink and she'd been known to enjoy the company of men, though she wasn't quite sure what this one was after just yet. Perhaps she'd feel him out a bit. So she gestured to the chair opposite her.
"Go ahead," she murmured, lifting her glass of ale and draining the remainder.
She had seen the tender greet him with a friendly smile, no doubt the man had to be a regular. But he didn't look as dirty or rough as some of the other types. Likely he wasn't a wilder or someone from the tiny, rather squallid village. Her eyes moved down to his sword again; a claymore much like her own. Except her's was graced with the distinctive carved handle. In any case, she could approve of his choice in weaponry.
Imenry waited for him to pour the scotch, he was rather smooth though that was often of little concern to her, it was certainly different. When he slid the glass over to her she closed a hand around it, tilting her head slightly.
"You don't really seem to be from around here. Are you?"
She lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed, relishing in the burning sensation as the liquor slipped down her throat and left a warmth spreading in her belly. It was a good bottle of whiskey, that was for sure.