[color=598527]"The cell didn't match up what was typical of the noble preferences. Either out of date, or out of place, and given how you two dress? Well, my dear, it's one of the nicer ways to put it."[/color] A feint grin flashed across the man's face between puffs on his pipe, taking time to enjoy an old habit, helpful in getting himself up to speed. She was sizing him up, smart woman, and he considered what she said next carefully. So he was trading one cell for a slightly larger one, fine by him, the more room to work, the better the chances to get out for good. No coin, but given their differences, unlikely that any coin she had would be worth a thing to him. 

	[color=598527]"Well, that's not quite working for free. Working for freedom isn't ideal, but I suppose there isn't much room to be, shall we say, picky. As for teams, well, I'm as good on my own as I am with a group, I can adapt."[/color] Jericho considered the situation at hand, best he understood, which was effectively nil. He suspected that he wasn't in Istvargrad anymore, given his memories leading up to the end of his old memories, and being faced with two complete, stand out unknowns. The fact the masked figure had not said a word yet was, well, perhaps concerning would be too strong a word. He didn't move when she produced her own dagger, asking after his own capabilities, and he flashed her another grin, more confident than merely feint.

	[color=598527]"Let's say I know my way around a brawl or scrap. Add in a lovely bag of tricks, I'm flexible enough to cover trouble and the once in a black moon war."[/color] Tapping the remaining ash out of his pipe, falling into his usual vagueness, and cleaning it, he shifted his cloak to reveal the hilt of his arming sword. His left hand deftly produced an offhand dagger, twirling it briefly before sheathing it again. Left hand favored dagger, right the arming sword, given the position of the sheaths. She could make out a crossbow stock slung over his shoulder, as well as the fletching of the bolts in the quiver resting below the dagger sheath, hinting at being a threat beyond arm's reach. She extended her hand like royalty, not just nobility, and he cocked an eyebrow, hidden in the shadows of his hood, and he casually introduced himself, leaving her hand hanging idly. One, nobility, two, shaking hands was reserved for close friends in Istvargrad, not strangers.

	[color=598527]"Name's Walker, I suspected that introductions would be made when appropriate, and yourself? Also, perhaps you'd care to introduce your friend, or better yet, perhaps [i]they[/i] would like to speak up?"[/color] The subtle shift in form indicated he was looking and taking in this gypsy princess' friend again, silent for now as he expected and waited for an answer from either of them. The lack of identifying words for the masked one concerned him, to be fair though, a great deal concerned him right now. Beggars couldn't be choosers, however, that didn't mean the beggar needed to go into things blind. They knew more than him, and the sooner that was rectified, the better.