It's a posture Jim can match, though he's a smaller man than Stratos is. It's easy enough to be On, to be Captain Kirk even in a place where that name and title are meaningless to anyone here other than Stratos. His jaw is set, expression hardened as he follows Stratos through the crowds. It takes a concentrated effort not to cough from the smoke but Jim's a firm believer in not showing weakness publicly (or at all if he can help it). If he lends anything at all to Stratos' sense of authority that will be more than enough for the time being.

There's mostly foreign words filling his ears in rasping voices, interspersed with Dunmeri here and there. Jim can't speak it any better but he can pick it up more readily. So his brain latches on when it hears something familiar. Something human amid this sea of strangeness.

He taps Stratos on the arm closest to where it's coming from and starts slowly making his way over. Taking the lead while they edge around a full table and one of the few supporting beams in this ramshackle establishment. Closer now, though he still can't catch sight of the woman speaking. He has to wait when one of the staff passes by with a loaded tray. Despite their demeanor he is polite when he murmurs 'excuse me' albeit in Cyrodillic. Once they've passed he can slip into the gap they left.