"Oh, I'd say I'm quite rich friend." A wolfish grin spread across his slim and pointed jaw, "If not just for the treasury of the Fire House, my own accounts would more than suit -- were it that I wished to<i>hire</i>you."<br/><br/>Brushing away some of the dust generated by the shattering of the door, he spared both men a simple nod, and tip of his hat. Stepping through the now conveniently opened door, a development which had been most assuredly unexpected, his walk had slowed once again. Slow and methodical, the heels of his boots had metal strips that had been added for durability, and traction: they now made a slow clicking on the floor as he walked. He was wary, to say the least. He was stepping in to their home, their den. One of the most successful outfits of mercenaries in -- anywhere. Few could boast a reputation like that of the Black Falcons. Those that could were usually quite large, and quite exclusive. The kinds who would happily take nobility in to their ranks, but who would more than hesitate at the prospect of taking a werewolf on amongst them. These men and women were different. They knew what worked, which was attested to by the fact that they were alive, well-established, and likely had more than enough gold coming in to supply them with what they needed and desired. Heading down the passage to his left, he removed his hat, and tucked it under one arm as he reached his destination: eyes locking on the first person whom he saw who looked at least midly important.<br/><br/>"Are you Modya?" He began, "I am Audrice Bourdette, mercenary, magic user, and --" He smirked, shrugging slightly in his self-assuradness. "-- a fantastic lover of fine women."