One should never discredit a shiny sack a midget shoves into your hand before running off into a crowd and Cole wasn't one to disregard the usefulness of anything handed to you for free, but he'd think about that later after he found the guy and made him start talking. There were a lot of people milling around, though, and as he cut through the crowd he lost track of Raimon quickly.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath to no one in particular, running a hand over his unruly blond hair, the few days of stubble peppering his chin. He was a tall man, broad of shoulder and sporting two pistols in shoulder holders at his sides. Fingerless gloves and rolled up sleeves coupled with dark cargo pants and combat boots finished the picture of a man who was accustomed to combat, and accustomed to a place far more advanced than this one. His brows lowered on the street outside the Market District Tavern as he took in his surroundings. Locals moved around him on the street as he looked around, taking in the market stalls, the cobbled streets, the...actual tavern? The giant birds hauling actual carriages?

He reached into the pocket of his shirt, producing a slightly crumbled but serviceable pack of cigarettes and sliding one between his lips, not really minding he was in the middle of everything seeing as people were just giving him a slightly wide berth, and he lit it with a zippo lighter from his pants pocket.

"Well, Toto. I think we're a long way from Kansas." It would seem less weird if he were talking to anyone in particular.

Cole is the best at what he does, and what he does...is drink, which is to say he goes with the best way to process this new place is to try out their liquor. The little guy did give him some coin. He'd better get to wasting it. Walking into the tavern itself feels a lot like going to a Ren Faire to him, only the corsets are way better done, and he isn't paying with cash, but actual coins that weren't minted by a machine. So weird, but he could groove with it. He takes a seat at the bar, and the tavern keep gets his order. "Something harder than the beer," is his only specification.

The keep slides a glass of amber liquid his way and he smiles, pleased, at the aroma. "That's what I'm talking about."