The engineer caught the flattened metal deftly with the swipe of a hand, plucking them from the air as they spun. The corner of his mouth turned upward. "If I'm playin' delivery boy, we'll call the change my tip." He looked down at the coins she'd given him once she'd gone, rolling one back across his knuckles before pocketing the lot of them and following suite - snatching his jacket along the way and draping it back over a shoulder, its worn blue hem trailing behind like a cape. Where she'd turned left, he went right - the silver buckles of his ebon boots offering a gentle click with each step he took across the dockyard. While the others would likely make themselves at home in Innocent's cozier districts, Shades was nothing if not a port-rat. For him, there was nothing more welcoming the scorched aroma of a cigarette and the bitter sting of a mouthful of whiskey. He could practically hear the bar calling his name. His fingers moved to the fag between his lips, raising it from where it sat and knocking the ash from its tip.