“What makes thee think thou can trust my discretion?” Handy asked, shady or not, there had to be other options then the incredibly obvious human to transport what was sounding very much like a very confidential transfer. Handy carefully checked over his shoulder, the guys were chatting at the door, there was a rather rough looking stallion in one corner, reading a pamphlet while smoking a pipe, the cook worked away, well within listening range. Whatever Fancy Pants was, he clearly owned this place. “Not that I do not appreciate it, but I hardly blend in.”