[b]"My thanks."[/b] Montana lightly dusted himself off, and removed his overcoat. He was loath to fold it, creases and all, so he opted to hang it from a small piece of wood extending just beyond the top off the booth. While largely unspectacular save for the top notch tailoring, the corner of a piece of paper could be seen jutting from the left ticket pocket. 

There was a shoulder holster over his waistcoat, but it was curiously void of any weaponry. He was, at least at face value, completely unarmed.  

That flash of colour was the true reason he had decided to take this familiar seat. Along with it's view of the door and behind the bar. All points of entry and exit. There were some deliveries he had yet to make, and one could never be certain of where hard to find people might pop up from. 

As he sat, he made eye contact with the barkeep, and held up his pointer and thumb, signaling he wanted two drinks for the table.

[b]"If you don't mind, I've taken the liberty to order you a beverage."[/b] 

The hooded man across from him had been marked as a mercenary in his mind due to the variety of his gear. Long and short range weapons, plus a short sword. Which was a deadly weapon in it's own right, and quite different some the sabers and rapiers members of the military tended to use.