Draku would have been in the process of fishing a prerolled from his coat pocket when he heard his name from the entrance of the bar.
He didn't know of anybody in this city, aside from Jocelyn, who knew his name.
Looking up from his task and locking eyes with the stranger who called his name, giving a slight nod before looking back towards the bartender with a slight tilt of his head, he could tell this was no mortal man. He smelt as if he'd been drug through fire and brimstone.
Looking back to the man, he began to open his mouth just as the rest of the bar exploded into gunfire. He raised a brow, reaching into his duster, and pulled forth his personalized sidearm from its holster; the dragonic symbol for ice glowing a vibrant blue, as he methodically began freezing whichever gunman wasn't already being mowed down to a wall. Ceiling. You know. Where ever his targets took a round and the sheer power from his hand cannon sent them flying.
With each shot he took, he made sure he made every evasive move he took after the fact towards the patio door. He was gonna smoke regardless of the shit storm happening inside and respect the establishment's ground rules while he was at it.
As everything calmed inside, Draku holstered his weapon and pulled the joint he was searching for earlier from his pocket, placing it between his lips and snapping his fingers; creating an emerald green flame at the tip of his thumb, lighting it. He took himself a nice good drag off of the fatty, holding the smoke in his lungs before expelling a large plume of smoke from his nostrils.