Drelas did not face his heckler, but ensured to remember his voice. Its gruffness seemed artificial, as thought its bearer was making an effort to seem more manly than boyish. Its accent was distinctly Nordic, but also with a peculiar twang unfamiliar to the dark elf. That was enough information to narrow it down for any intention of revenge that Drelas would enact at a later point, for the Dunmer were a proud people, whether by nature or culture, and Drelas was prouder than most - or at least more unwilling to allow slights against him. He would not let this transgression slide without consequence, especially not from a filthy Nordling who likely had more spots than hairs on his chin.

He found his head elsewhere as most of the squad seemed to nervously shuffle and stiffen and dulled growls seemed to vibrate through the air, but not really penetrating the Dunmer's ears. Drelas lazily swayed in the tide of reaction from the squad, more out of instinctual bandwagoning than any real effort. His focus returned to the Sergeant upon receiving the answer to his query after the short pause due to whatever entity had interrupted. Eight [i]hundred[/i] septims! What opportunity that presented, in spite of any deduction of expenses. "[color=ed1c24][b]I'll take it[/b][/color]".
Drelas ensured his shield and bow were still secured over his back before approaching further. He held his hand out somewhat ungraciously considering Dallio had offered this out of his own pocket, but the Sergeant hadn't yet done anything to warrant much in the way of deserving gratitude considering the conscripted context of Drelas' presence there. Dallio dropped a coinpurse into the outstretched palm, which swiftly enclosed to secure it, and watched as the dark elf turned on his heels to head into Solitude. Drelas saw a tall woman approach the Sergeant in the corner of his eye as he headed off, but could not see much in the way of details beyond a great dark mane that seemed greatly out of place in a martial environment.

Drelas made his way through the bustling crowds that swamped the entrance to the Nordic capital noting - as impossible as it was not to - the strangely upbeat vibe of its inhabitants. Beyond the beggars and the crippled, the people did not seem to be aware they were in the midst of a Great War. The further he went, the more he realised that the opposite was true, they were not ignorant to the conflict surrounding them. They were accepting of it. Elated, even. These Nords became more strange and alien the more time Drelas spent trapped amongst them, and he was becoming increasingly unconvinced of the nobility some attributed to them and more convinced of their primitive and barbaric stereotypes they had earned. The Dunmer raised his eyebrows in bewilderment as he passed street performers and processions, preachers peddling their piety, and bardic tales spoken in incoherent languages. 

His eyes darted above the crowds for a certain archetype of signage, and it did not take long until his groans of disappointment turned to ones of approval upon gazing upon his intended destination. [i][i]The Winking Skeever[/i][/i]. A fittingly crass name for a such a crass corner of the world. And yet Drelas withheld his disdain, for this fine establishment was a tropical island after a snowstorm. He barged past a drunken gang of Nords hobbled around the entrance and was met with a soothing embrace that engulfed his face. Cathartic sounds of revelry and carousing filled him with warmth and comfort as he secured a seat on the edge of a bench towards the far side of the tavern and for a moment, Drelas closed his eyes and imagined he was back at the Fervent Guar Cornerclub in Narsis. But alas, he remained thousands of miles west as he opened them.

He beckoned a waitress over and hesitated as he realised he wasn't quite sure what to order. Surely such a refined beverage such as sujamma was an unheard-of commodity in this backwater corner of Tamriel. These concerns were confirmed as he repeated his request to the barmaid twice without any progress. In the end, he had to settle for an ale - although on his first sip, it wasn't the swill he expected. Perhaps these Nords could do something right after all.