''And while we are on the subject of weather, I'll have an Ithorian mist." The speaker looked to be in her mid to late twenties, with dirty blonde hair brushing her shoulders, rich brown eyes, the slightest trace of a smirk on trace of a smirk on her lips, almost like she knew something highly amusing and was not about to tell. Her clothing was by no means showy and she wore no visible weapons, but eight burly near-humans stood not far away, obviously keeping an eye on her.
"So tell me your story, stranger," she remarked to Jack as her drink was set before her, "if you are willing. And if you are not, then in silence we shall drink." She raised her glass in a half-mocking salute and fell silent to let him speak if he wished to do so.