As it happened, the Last Chance Saloon shootout was starting to reach its end just as Galga'roth passed by the place. He'd intended to ignore the noise of bullets and death and keep making his way to Nab's Holdout as quickly as he could, to make sure he didn't miss that rogue trader, if they even existed (and Emperor forbid that they did exist, only for Galga'roth to miss them completely); however, the sudden [i]ping[/i] of a bullet ricocheting off of his carapace breastplate stopped him in his tracks. The Navigator himself was unharmed; however, he now had a hole in his finest robe (one of only a few, actually), and a combination of drunkenness and semi-falsified excess combined to produce very real anger as a result. How dare some thug ruin his best clothing? Or nearly kill him, as it were, but his best clothing!

The end of the shootout was punctuated with a single scattergun shot from within the building as Galga'roth approached, striding in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion. Oh, he was going to give whoever was left in there a piece of his mind, almost literally if he felt they deserved it! Reaching the bar doors at last, he swung them open dramatically, took three steps in, and slowed to a halt as he looked around at the carnage and remembered that, oh yes, gunfire is usually associated with huge quantities of blood and gore. After a few moments of slow turning to observe and evaluate the situation, the Navigator looked at the single standing patron left- possibly the bartender, though his appearance suggested otherwise- with what appeared to be quite a fine beverage in hand if the bottle it came from was anything to go by, and the scattergun from before lying on the bar near him.

An awkward moment passed, and Galga'roth eventually said to himself 'Well, okay, then,' before unscrewing the cap on his wine bottle and tipping the whole thing back, chugging a good quarter of it in one go without really tasting it before finally letting his arm hang by his side again. Unaware or uncaring that his hood had fallen back as a result, he trudged over to the bar, took a seat, roughly set the wine bottle down next to him, and stared at the man on the other side of the bar for a moment, only to ask 'I don't suppose you could spare some of that? For a weary traveller, of course.'