"Or two or three," Solomon offers, regarding a drink and waving one of the barmaids over as he walks to the bar, expecting the petite cloaked redhead to follow him. He takes a moment to size her up and flashes a grin. "Now if you want the tale, that usually would cost you a drink or two, or more." He rubs his chin, considering, and shrugs. "But I guess I owe you that much." He offers her his hand, "Captain Solomon Pierce, of the Crimson Claw, are your service." There's his introduction and he waits, to see if she'll return the favor. 

Whether she does or not, he continues, taking a deep breath and smiling widely. "It was just a sad misunderstanding, really," he says, waving a hand dismissively. "A business transaction that didn't quite go as expected, but can they blame me, when they don't give me all the details about the cargo they're expecting me to ferry around?" He shrugs and shakes his head. "And can they blame me if I then have to dump that cargo, because it happened to attract the wrong kind of attention?" A pause. "I don't think they can, do you think they can? I don't think they can." The barmaid is finally available, and ready to take their orders. "I'll have the usual," he says for himself then glancing at the petite woman asks, "What's your poison?"

He flashes her a grin. "And what's your story? You aren't from around here, are you?" He asks this in a very casual tone, eye studying her again, even through that smile of his. There is experience in those eyes. And those same eyes now take a moment to scan their surroundings, and the other patrons in the pub.