Though it may have seemed like blank disinterest, Jean-Luc was staring at the only other living patron of the Last Chance in mild surprise.  With his hood fallen, there was no mistaking it:  a Navigator, of all things, here, of all places.  Here for the Trader, perhaps...  Here [i]with[/i] the Trader, potentially.  Whatever the case, theirs was a non-overlapping expertise, and there was no cause to be ungentlemanly.  Perhaps they might even pool their resources.

"Distinguished [i]sir.[/i]"  He placed a hand to his chest and bowed slightly, turning, stepping over the ruined servitor and sweeping broken glasses noisily from the rear of the bar until he found an intact vessel.  He wiped it clean with a thin towel and set it on the counter, holding the bottle up to the light.  "But of course.  I see little reason why not.  To sample such a rarefied vintage alone, well..." he sighed lightly as the faintly glowing liquid trickled exquisitely into the glass. "...Even in a place without law, some things remain a crime.  [i]Salut.[/i]" He clinked his glass against Galga'roth's, taking an only moderately disinterested sip.  The liquor was magnificent beyond anything he had tasted in months, but alas, the pleasure never lingered long.

"Forgive the atmosphere."  He indicated the ruined saloon as the maimed Ogryn suddenly gave a weak groan, its remaining arm twitching under one of the other bodies.  "...Renovations.  [i]Excusez-moi, un petit moment...[/i]"

La Mare yanked one of the throwing knives out of the counter, arched forward and hurled it precisely into the creature's bulging carotid artery with a [i]thunk[/i].  A thin mist of blood began piping up over the rubble of the piano.  The abhuman giant made a deflated, wheezing sound and slowly stopped moving.

"...Unfortunate species.  The brain frequently takes time to process the fact that it no longer lives.  But I forget my manners:  Jean-Luc Bauta de la Mare, at your service." He gave another half-bow, taking up the glass and swirling the contents, distantly.  "If I might intrude on the business of so vital a personage, have you come down on the shuttle?  Or..." He let the question hang, as small, smoking chunks of rubble collapsed from the las-ridden stairwell.