Faint amusement at the reaction passes over Guy, but he's done the whole 'cowboy at the saloon' thing before, and if you let people be, then there's seldom a problem. And anyone who wants to try out the out-of-towner, well, they generally get a cool stare that indicates it's not a good idea. He's not an impressively large man, maybe six foot even in his boots, but all wiry muscle under his jeans, shirt and brown leather jacket, and moves with the liquid ease and self-awareness of someone used to watching his surroundings for threats.

Picks a corner, sits with his drink, and stays out of trouble. Which is why the cop coming through the door doesn't particularly rile him. It's an amateur mistake to start getting cranked up at the first sight of law enforcement: Nothing draws suspicion quite like 'nervous', but Guy's just here for a drink and has nothing to hide. At least, not on him.

It's still automatic to size up any potential complication, though, no matter what the situation, which is why Guy looks the cop over idly as he sips his whiskey. Big, solid, confident. Trained. Clearly, this is his home ground, and he's got more than just his size as an advantage. Guy files that all away behind honey-brown eyes, but the glance and frown? Gets nothing more but the briefest flicker of a polite smile and half-nod. Evening, officer. Just passing through, no trouble here.