Irah comes in and very nearly goes right out again. Quick movement, not suspicious at all, she could just pretend she forgot to tie up her horse...and she could be miles away before the other Qunari (Vashoth?) was finished his drinks.

Obviously that's not going to work, though. And her pride stops her. And the cold, too, stops her. And her arrogance, perhaps, stops her.

It's not that she knows anything about him. It's that since cutting her losses and running from the Qun, she's made her living being strange: charming and disconcerting the Orlesian court in equal measure, playing the Game as only an outsider can, cashing in on what so many are pleased to call heathen in public and exotic in private. She feels uneasily exposed around other Qunari. Vashoth. Either. They might threaten her monopoly on strangeness. Worse, the ones who know the Qun might pick up on certain things about her which bas never see.

As this flashes through her mind she's moving forwards, making a beeline for the man in the corner, a smile slowly lighting up her face. They're not very similar; he's massive and scarred, likely a merc, while she is short for a Qunari and very carefully attired in rich travelling gear. Rich, Orlesian travelling gear. "Well, well, well... Two horned giants walk into a bar. Ouch, says the bar."

Sometimes, best defence is charm offensive.