They make a definite contrast, her polite elegance, and Connor's wary feral manners. The bellhop does briefly eye Connor's coat, and the scruffy immortal hunches his shoulders and gives him a glower that banishes any though of actually offering to take it. He'll just drip on the floor, and they can damn well clean it up later. His sword is in his coat, and he's not about to be separated from it.

He follows Heather into the bar proper, and shifts a chair a little so he'll be able to keep an eye on most of the room as well as her, before he sits, but apart from his excessive caution he doesn't seem to feel awkward or out of place in the wealthy setting.

"Scotch. Glenmorangie, if you've got it." His nod to the waiter is polite enough, despite the short answer, and he drops into his chair quietly, waiting until the man is out of earshot to speak to Heather again. "...Thanks. You're not... hunting?"