Quiet, but not self-conscious, Doul follows Huaisang through the square to his shop. He looks over the window, assessing what he sees, and once inside seems almost pleasantly bemused. It's all quite strange, but he has no qualms about accepting charity. As he dresses, he is reminding of a voice hissing into his ear about his pride, Liveman, revolting, prick-filling pride.

With the poncho in place, he rolls his shoulders, testing out the range of movement. It's not his own, but it will do and he feels comfortable in it. The lack of clothing bothered him far less than being separated from his sword, but there's little to be done about that but to wait.

"I am not one for speaking freely. Please do not mistake my laconic ways for rudeness. Thank you."