The clattering of weapons drew D’Angelo from his thoughts, dark eyes watched as an Oldman laden with a plethora of weapons on his person on a map in his hands navigated the dying streets of the city. 
When the Oldman rounded the corner and addressed D’Angelo concern briefly touched his features. He knew the magic of his cloak and stillness with which he stood in the depths of the shadows should have made him difficult to detect. Yet, the old man stood purposefully before him.

Looking down the length of his nose at Ross, D’Angelo gave a grunt and smiled faintly. “You look a little old to be the Brighton boy.” He remarked as he continued to study the old man.  D’Angelo’s own cloak was around him, concealing his arms and hands, which rested on the belt pouch he wore at his waist. This could always be a set-up he told himself.

“Move along old timer. This is not your fight.” He said simply, leaning off the wall as if ready to go..