She's a pretty woman, definitely. Drifter doesn't mind at all the position he's put himself in. His flirtations are real, though he's comfortably in the frame of mind that he's unwanted. That he's bad luck. That he's a wanderer that can't be tied. That this is the life he's chosen for himself and generally in a time where most people desperately claw at life for stability? There's not a chance someone would want to spend more time with him than necessary.

He enjoys what he feels under his flattened palms, even if he's also goal-minded. And she promises him good booze and the words taste like truth sweeet as honey.

Bartenders are well suited for immortality. She'll do fine when she gets there, as much as she dreads it. He can already tell.

Drifter stays for a while longer. He does some tricks with flowers, dances with someone, a few coin tricks. He sees what happens to Jason at least in the process, then departs. He collects his weapons from where he left them, changing back into his full armor, and he wears that when he goes to Nick's place.

That's the man that she opens the door to. A guy in a long coat and big shoulderpads and looking for all the universe like an actual space-rogue. Not just a guy trying to fit into a cyberpunk dystopia. He's leaning his elbow against the door, painfully casual, a cat that caught a canary.

"Turns out they weren't there for you and your friends. Glad I kept an eye out, though. They got one of the new guys, from my dormatory. Didn't know him none, but it sounds like he did somethin' real little to piss 'em off."

He comes in, working his hands in his gloves. "Is that the good stuff you say you had? Cause if so, be still my heart."