Harrowheart narrows his eyes when he's singled out by a man that he's fully confident wasn't nearby seconds ago. His nostrils flare, and his first reaction to the surprise is to inhale a lungful of air through his nostrils. Two out of place, outdated men are staring each other down here, though Harrowheart has none of the casual smugness of this stranger.

Slowly, as if he suspects his answer will be highly scrutinized, he replies, "I liked her... She was nicer to me than I expected a lady of her..." He stares blankly at the man for a painfully long while as he tries to find the word. "Status," he finally decides, "to be.

He straightens up then, picking up a slack he didn't realize he had. "Were you hopin' to meet with her? Because I think she went back downstairs..."