Booker's clocked most people in this place, either by the yellow sigil a choice few of them are wearing, or the general sight. Most of them aren't worthy of worry, and even if his years of experience fail him - well, it's not like anyone here can kill him. The risk is worth it for the booze.

The ones with the sigil are easier to keep track of, and likewise, he recognizes the hair that comes out from the mask she's wearing, the bump of her cheeks below it. Funny, she didn't strike him as someone of note. Then again, his attention to detail has been declining steadily the whole night.

With a look around him to make sure the question was directed at him and not someone else, Booker downs what's left in his glass and huffs half a laugh. "Got it in one. Can I get you something?" Seeing as he's already in the market, and he looks a little closer at her, pays a little more attention to her eyes and the slope of her shoulders.