Her words gave him a grin that showed his teeth. He had to admit, despite his uneasiness, he liked her manner. She had a way of thinking that was clever, but deceptively uncouth by surface standards. Likely from her being more used to her own dark speech. Either way, he found it endearing. Then again, he told himself, it would be amusing until he was dead. Another few twists of the lockpick, and he entered her cell. It was dark, and he felt a sense of dread being in the same cell as a drow, but being a wizard was about discipline. "I believe you. Though if you betray me, keep my face intact. It's my best feature." He joked, before bidding her: "Stay still so I can unlock these, just hold tight." The young wizard tried not to stare at her too long. 

It was surreal being so close to something he had been told all of his life would curse him and eat his still beating heart. Drow were cursed by Corellon of the elven pantheon, sent into the depths of the underdark to toil under the Spider Queen. Despite his nerves, however, he had to admit she was rather attractive in a terrifying way. Her face was sculpted and her exotic eyes were indigo in hue, not to mention her shapely, lithe form. He pushed both his fear and salacious thoughts away, or at least the latter. His fear returned when she gazed at the ceiling, speaking into the darkness as if it were a pet. 

"Mystra's tits!" Malcador cursed when the shadows began to move, almost searching his repertoire of spells to see what could obliterate a spider that size, at least when he realized what it was. However, he stopped when he gathered she spoke to it in such a familiar way. "Gods, you need to tell me if you have a pet spider." He remarked, indignant. He did not want to bungle their deal, however, and knelt beside her, trying to concentrate on the lock until he freed her left hand. At first he was distracted by her in two ways, but now his focus was solely on the spider that watched with six unblinking eyes. The irons popped open, and he completed the circuit on her next hand. Soon, both shackles were unlocked, and he stepped back to grant the dark elf room.  

The lockpick was almost broken. Four manacles and two doors had spent it, and he tossed it aside. His cool, collected manner had returned, and the mage inclined his head. "Glad to be of service. I neglected to introduced myself. I am Malcador of Waterdeep." 

It wasn't a full introduction, he did not want to grant his true surname yet. But it would suffice for now. Maybe if they survived, he would feel more ready to speak.