Pete had turned from shock to smiles, and then to an annoyed sort of gaze. Ashton knew that look from dukes and counts inspecting their prisoners. Worthy would have received some sort of major injury if not for his skills in 'explosions and immolations', Ashton thought.<br/><br/>"You told me you loved me!" Ashton blinked; that was not the way he expected Pete to react. Was Pete<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>sort of man? Pete went back to his potatoes and other assorted cheap foodstuff, which left Ashton to his thoughts. An explosives expert, and a rapier user that did not enjoy laconics. Were three people really enough to bring down Agathor, he wondered.<br/><br/>His eyes went to Pete, who was eating with barely any letdown or etiquette.<span style="font-style: italic">Add piggy-eater to the description</span>, Ashton added to his mental description of Pete.<br/><br/>"So, here are my immediate thoughts." Pete had begun to speak almost as quickly as he finished his food. "The tools currently at our disposal are a demolitions expert, which is a tremendously useful asset, and two swordsmen, which are far less useful, even if one of them is carrying a pistol. If you wish to have it be your surprise weapon, I suggest not reaching into your coat before you reach for your sword. And you have minute traces of gunpowder on your fingertips, so please do not touch the food until you wash up."<br/><br/>Guns weren't negotiable, like how swords would parry each other in combat. Show one off, and a fight was generally decided, Ashton realised. In fact, he felt his sword-fighting skills were getting rustier with the way the fight with Verse ended up. But he had to rely on his pistol less, he thought.<br/><br/>The way Pete spotted his fingers and guessed Ashton had a gun was intriguing, but rather easy to follow the logical trail. A gun was a luxury weapon, and Ashton looked rich enough to own one. Still, how did that man know how gunpowder stains looked like?<br/><br/>Pete went into detail about analysing their strengths, but Ashton began to think about something else they needed. Money. Paying for thugs and mercenaries and paying off nobility, mayors and even the occasional bishop was just as important.<br/><br/>"Go wash your hands, Ashton."<br/><br/>He wanted to protest, but the details Pete spoke of spooked him a bit. If a random hired mercenary suddenly came up with such in-depth analysis of a mission, messing with him might result in bad news for himself. Containing his annoyance behind clenched teeth, Ashton nodded, walking towards the exit. He paused at the door, and turned to face the two. "We also need one thing. Money. Sure, Mr. Girly, blowing places up will cause a lot of chaos and finger-pointing. But not all are inclined to conflict. We need silver to get people to stand aside."<br/><br/>He stepped out of the room, his light footsteps turned into swift movement as he ran for the washroom. Barging into the door labelled 'Men', he stuck his hand underneath the tap and turned the knob. His eyes focused on his fingers rubbing the smudge of gunpowder off itself, tuning out any other latrine user near him.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Wait.</span><br/><br/>There was no gunpowder stain. Pete Girly had lied.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Why?</span><br/><br/>Ashton bolted back out of the washroom, nearly colliding with someone else he didn't care to look at. In a few seconds, Ashton had returned to the doorway, his mouth panting and his hands still dripping with clear liquid.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Did Pete Girly speak with Verse beforehand? And why?</span><br/><br/>"Got the stains off," lied Ashton, lightly shaking off droplets of water from his fingers.