Arget stares on at her, not sure how to react.  This is the secretary of a rather powerful man aligned to his enemies, and though she's already been quite helpful, he doesn't know whether she's trustworthy either, or if she may very well just lead him right into the hands of his enemies if he proves what she wants to know; hell, he doesn't even know how to prove it to her.<br/><br/>"I don't know what to give you." He admits, yanking the tattered rag free from his head and exposing his foxears.  "I've been treated like shit by both sides my whole life.  My only friends are now in the resistance, yes.  Fragments of the very hangglider I used to get out of Alhanda's Palace are scattered on the street outside.  My best friend is riding a naga somewhere with her TAIL in his jaws still.  If you turn on the news, you'll probably hear soon that Alhanda's in ICU somewhere because she was nearly assassinated." He leans in very close.  "Now I'm not going to hurt you, because you have nothing to do with this." His voice isn't hateful, spiteful, but breathily it flows with all the seriousness of God at his Throne.<br/><br/>"Now, you have three options here.  You can do nothing and let me walk out of here and hotwire some poor guys car... or you give me what I need, hell, you can even come with me if you want.  The resistance might not care, but you'll have my gratitude.  That would be a naive exercise in trust that will earn you my debt so long as I live.  Or..." He says.  "Option three, you can call the police and run for it.  I won't stop you, but I guarantee if you take that route, I and a lot of police are going to die, as well as one decent draconic being is losing precious seconds as we speak.  Now." He stands back, and puts his hands together.  A trickle of blood runs down his lips.  "Please."