"As you wish, Lord Draga," Johanna replies with as courteous a bow as she can manage, taking care to keep her overcoat around her lest she uh, expose anything untoward to the unfortunate people behind her, "We will speak in a while." Well, the Hutt had mentioned a drink. Drinks sound like a good idea! She moves over to the bar and curses the fact that her shoes keep her from walking over there with anything resembling purpose. Johanna half clomps, half stumbles to the bar and then hangs on for dear life before finding her balance once more. "I'm going to find the twit who designed this horrific footwear and make him or her sad they were ever born," she grumbles.