[ Silco's hands behind his back, he followed, his feet unhurried, his shoulder slumped, swaying forward. Silco moves half like a man determined to take up more space than his small frame allows for, though his shoulders leave him slumped slightly, as if he'd spent time curled into small spaces -- fissures -- digging his way through mines.

His lips curl upward. ]

Oh? Wanting to know what price could bring me along?

[ He fished a cigar out of his jacket, as he spoke, and the end was clipped off with a pinch of his fingers, and lit with a second, the magic was small enough, that it had not passed yet. ]

The terms would not be the same again, I'm afraid. Don't worry about it, our affairs belong to us.