"Ah." Said the man, a sincere smile splitting his face as the woman pointed a handcannon at his head, "Judged you by your looks did he?" He mused, leaning forward slightly and fixing the vixen with a cool gaze, "How very 'petty" of him." The innuendo was blatantly clear, "You should know better than to judge a trid by it's icon." Beyond the dramatics, he knew she was bluffing. No runner worth her soy was going to blast a stranger for no fraggin reason, in a friends safehouse, surrounded by civvies especially if that stranger was hired by the same Johnson. You don't loose that kind of rep, and no one works with a Ronin. But still, that was a harry of a gun in her hand, so he decided not to push the issue, making a mental note to keep an eye on her.
The man stepped forward gently setting down his pint with a heavy 'tack' on the nearby table and draping his coat over a folding chair and sitting down near his new compatriots and crossing his legs and meeting Adelaide and Aideens' eyes, lingering on the big cat in Adelaide's lap. "You may call me Tom." he said warmly, as if he hadn't just been bodily threatened, and extended his left knobbly left hand, in favor of his cold metallic right one. The two could tell automatically that he was very professional, at least for now, and despite the scruff on his face, he was also quite handsome.
