"Not to worry," Sasha said with a gentle smile. "Don't we all get a little carried away from time to time? Passion is the blessing of youth."

Come back tomorrow? The man's brown eyes narrowed. Patience was a virtue often preached to him, alas it was rarely practiced. He could wait a century for something, but when he [i]wanted[/i] a thing, he seized on it voraciously. Alice didn't know it, but she was waving a bite of juicy steak in the nose of a starving man, and now she was asking him to wait.

In the grand scheme of things, all the world was meaningless except for the fraction right in front of Sasha. Right now, this was all he cared about. He was a single-minded thing, when there was a thing to focus on.

It was very possible, Sasha mused, that this 'trouble with the door' business was merely a cautious excuse. He was a tall, dark haired man casting a shadow on a petite woman in the corner of some darkened English street. She had every reason to be wary. However, Sasha felt his politeness merited more than suspicion. He had no ill-intentions, and he would not tolerate assumptions to the contrary. Even if they were wise.

"But here, if you're having trouble, allow me." 

Edging in between Alice Lynch and the tailor shop, Sasha reached with a long arm to grasp the door handle firmly, and twisted. With a rather loud [i]KLANK[/i], the latching mechanism in the door snapped at once. His head cocked to the right as something tumbled loosely within the hollow wooden confines of the lock's housing and he released the door. It swung open effortlessly, leading into the shadow of a quiet shop.

"Ah, I'm sorry—" He glanced back at Alice with a jolt. "I didn't mean... was that lock broken, or something? Perhaps that's why you were having trouble?" Granting the woman space to breathe, Sasha placed his hands on his hips in the universal gesture for 'it's broken, I don't know what to do'. "You'll have to call a locksmith in the morning, I suppose."