Irahl hardly has time to think nasty things at Jandru or appreciate the smaller man's attempt to pump the brakes on this interaction, before Irahl is hit with the full force of it.

Scorching Sun indeed. Irahl squints behind his visor as if he hadn't had the light-filtering function engaged.

He has one arm properly carrying his bag of gear, while the other hand is looped on the strap of the rifle hanging on his shoulder. He could detach it from its perch. It isn't actually doing anything load-bearing. But, as if he couldn't possibly move it from where it's resting, he raises a couple of fingers in greeting. Her hand gets ignored, but this is still Irahl being as close to friendly as is going to happen. This is him being generous.

"Irahl."

And that's it.