Ashton tugged at his collar. It felt a little hot, though the room itself was not. The so-called Mr. Girly grated on his nerves, and not in the sort of fashion that allowed Ashton to throw a punch into his face. If there was some sort of school for assholes, Mr. Girly would have graduated<span style="font-style: italic">summa cum laude</span>.<br/><br/>He did not want to spend any more time explaining their goal to a newcomer, or any of their methods. The longer they spent talking, the greater the risk of discovery. Their group were not focused upon, but it did not mean they should speak freely.<br/><br/>"You know our goal, mister."<br/><br/>Ashton wagged a finger at Worthington. "Worthy Worthington. Alchemist, one of the eyebro-<span style="font-style: italic">highbrow</span>sort." He corrected himself mid-word, distracted by Worthy's face.<br/><br/>"Mr. Pete Girly, another sellsword. Cain, a sellsword almost just the same as he, him and I. And I am Sir Ashton Cromwell, though not of these lands."<br/><br/>Ashton slowly re-introduced the plan to the newcomer. Worthy's plan, Ashton's plan, and Pete's analysis of their skills, though in much more words than the man had used previously and in much more graceful terms.<br/><br/>He crossed his arms again as he finished speaking, choosing to look out of the window in the temporary silence that followed him. The street lamps of Tounstead flickered in the darkness of the night, and his mind went to the possibilities of brigands. Brigands preferred the shining point of a blade and a quick coin from a hapless man to an honest day's work. He hoped the situation was not as bad as the cities back home.<br/><br/>There were worse things to lose than money.<br/><br/>"We'll need a base, that is correct. This tavern is no place for dark scheming."<br/><br/><span style="font-size: 50%; line-height: 116%;">"Unless Mr. Girly has already procured one..."</span>Ashton muttered under his breath.