"No need to apologize," he said with a sardonic, more-than-usually sly smile, "to me, at least. I'm not bothered by how I am. You learn to live with it after a while, and it gives you appreciation for a lot of things you wouldn't really enjoy otherwise." [i]Like knowing how to disarm a pretty young thing like you with only a crutch and a lock-responsive leg brace,[/i] he thought as a side note. The man may have been a cripple, but he was by choice. Even now he knew that he could replace his injury by any amount of alternatives - he was even offered a gift from the upper echelons of command. A new organic leg, free of charge. But it was his reminder. And one that he'd learn to live with, and honed like a broken bone turned into the sharpened end of a spear. The leather-clad woman in front of him didn't need to know any of that. Not yet. He took her hand with a respectful grip. "Mason Cartier, owner of Billhook Cleaners. I'm a newcomer 'round here, so there's no need to worry about me believing in anything folk are weaving about you Trayvens."