He puts on a mock expression of pique. There's a certain set to his mouth that gives him away. He's not as good at bluffing when he's fighting amusement. "I'll try my best not to stir my tea with a serving fork."

He folds his arms in a soft clank of mail and tips his head back against the warm rock face. It's going to be a bit of a wait for the ferry. The sand is too shifty for him to want to try to sit down here. It's also just damp enough it could seep into seams or joints of his armor. Better to stand.

"I think you could say that of the whole city," he says, returning to an earlier point. "It was a major port for slave trade, after all. I'm sure you saw the statues coming into the harbor."