The French shouldn't have surprised her. She'd already pegged his accent as being Cajun, so she imagined that he was probably from somewhere in Louisiana. Along the Bayou, if she were any judge. Absently she picked up one of the local's glasses from where he'd vacated his stool a couple seats down from the stranger, along with the cash that sat there. Glass went in the sink and money into the till as she answered his question.
"Nebraska, originally. Only been in Lawrence for the past couple of months. Just built this place." The saloon, while being new, didn't necessarily have the feeling of newness. She'd gone with dark woods to give it a more comforting feel - heavy paneling that covered up the inscriptions and symbols she'd drawn on the iron-flecked drywall herself. As his eyes caught the light, she froze suddenly, her own gaze narrowing. That was impossible. She'd set the iron in the doorframe herself, so she knew there was no way that a demon could walk into her place. After a moment, she moved back over to him.
"What about you? Pretty obvious you're far from home yourself." Her own head tilted, dark eyes glimmering in curiosity. "And whadya want to drink?"