He laughs, re-holstering his gun. "I  jes' wanted te get yer attention laddie." He smirks. "See, my employer is oot tae make sure you guys survive, and get yer job done. Basically, ye got a rich anti-slavery fur on your side, and now ye got me too." He offers his hand, grinning. "Slayer Bazil T Rat, formerly of the Aberdow Highlands Frostsaber clan" Anyone stood behind the rat, or at the right angle to see it in a window, will notice a bright blue square of matted fur on the back of Baz's neck<br/><br/>Anyone with knowledge of the Highland traditions will know of the Slayer oath. When a Highlander considers that he or she has commited a major crime, or insult, they'll take the Slayer Oath. In the eyes of their clan, they're dead from the second the blue Slayer's Mark is dyed onto the back of their neck. Slayers seek only an honourable death in battle, fighting for justice to repay their slight against their Clan.<br/><br/>"I'mma gonnae make sure you Pinkies don' ge' yer arses gulped down, shot up, cut to hell or any of tha' nasty shit. An' maybe we're gonnae have a bit ae fun, maybe we're not. Maybe we become friends, maybe we don't- to be honest, I dinnae give a shit meself, so long as you get yer freedom. And if I die doing it, hey that's all for the best. It'd be easier if we DID ge' along, but it's nae fur off my back if we don't."<br/><br/>His demeanor instantly changes, now that's out of the way- becoming a lot more relaxed. He smiles, taking a small silver flask from his pocket. "Anyone fancy a cigar? Or maybe a whiskey? Good Highland malt." He offers his cigar packet and taking a swig from the flask "Things usually work a lot better if we're nae glaring at eachother, I've found. Make yer choice, Pinkie. Trust... or Distrust- ball's in yae court now laddie!"<br/><br/>Then he draws his sword and points it at the fox. "You shut yer pie-hole or I'll cut ye a new asshole, ye clear on tha'?"