Tager blinked as the tiny woman went zipping past him into the face of the gladiator, looking for all the world like some sprite out of a Phantism myth. He was a little surprised at the rather lax weapons policy, but he recalled that Naiar was kinda on the high end of the scale when it came to arms control. Which, he supposed, also explained why a doorman at a bar was carrying a freaking firearm. Back home that would get a place shut down faster than you could say "armed security".

So he just nodded, and was greeted by a familiar voice. "Well if it isn't The Commander! Fancy meeting you here!" he returned with a broad grin. "The Commander" was the "honorary Graviator name" that Tager had assigned him on the conclusion of their whole misadventure. It was a sign of respect. You have to know the culture. He walked while he talked, heading into the bar so as not to be obstructing the entry, casing around both to find a place to sit and to take in the surroundings and people. The physical diversity of the various beings, while not something he had been entirely unprepared for, still took him somewhat by surprise. Naiar had several different races evolved from a wide variety of animals, and while there were definite physical differences between them, they were relatively slight. You never had anything like inches-tall people with wings, or people with four arms. And John, who was pretty much the only alien that Tager had really had much in the way of personal interaction with, could have easily passed for a simid. So while he was intellectually aware that not every sapient being in the universe followed the same template as the Naian races, on an intuitive level he still kinda hadn't expected just how different they could be. "You here for this job-thing too?"