Pretty really isn't how Dorian would describe Raylan. There was a certain handsome ruggedness to him that he found appealing, even despite the bruising or scars. He'd easily be mistaken for Ferelden if he thought the man was from Thedas. He'll step aside as the other moves through the Gull and he'll follow a little behind, again admiring the view. He enjoys a good saunter.

"A pleasure Mr. Givens." He walks around to the other side of the bar to lean where the patrons would line up, watching curiously as he digs out a bottle of clear liquid. His brows raise, he knows the clear stuff tends to be a lot stronger, and he's certainly not going to complain about strength in this sort of situation.

To the warning he can't help but to laugh softly, "I will find it rather hard to believe if this place can make stronger swill than what I've been drinking at Skyhold."

He grins, "Trust me, at this rate, I'll take what I can get. I'm sure there are worse things I've imbibed."

He may eat those words yet though.

"Though I have to ask ah, what happened?" He motions vaguely to his own face indicating the array of marks and bruising on Raylan's.