She looks at him, looks at him carefully. It's not a secret, not down here at least. Her name was carefully murmured and passed along, and anyone saying it, did so with care if they wanted to keep their head. Else, they were brave and brash. Much like his brother.

"Deal." She leans forward, grasping his hand firm. No noble woman's hand, soft and untouched. Calloused and marred with a starburst of sword's mans scars across her knuckles where they are just showing underneath her leather braces. She grips and tightly to his hand the way she does a weapon.

Settles herself back down, a leg hooking over the other to brace ankle to knee - relaxed so far as she never is. "A man, an American, came here not two nights ago, with Black Mary. I know, because he knocked out two of my men before I pulled him off them. Seemed surprised I was stronger than he was." Surprised was one word for it. Devi bristles and hisses something in Hindi, that says about the impression he left. "So surprised, he struggled to come up with another way of calling me whore once I threw him out onto the street. Elected to spit at me, then. Sound like your brother?"