The suit's words were of a familiar kinship to Sunrise, his lingo and dialect resonating with her own upbringing. He was still a suit, no doubt about that, but in the end his words reeked of his desperation and fear. She relaxed her posture, letting the duster coat fall back over the holster of her revolver as she crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her head to peer out from beneath the hat.

Six goons, armed for bear and kitted like tanks. She appraised them in a slow manner, sucking on the inside of her cheek and chewing on it lightly as she did so; if push came to shove, six on three weren't great odds but she'd dealt with worse and with lower quality companions. By her sussin' and their jabberin', Sunrise kenned that Flint and Steel could square dance with these goons if they had to and that bolstered her own rebellious embers...

But there was a job to do, and this man could be worked. Black Jack's tongue ran smooth and made Sunrise's stomach churn as he yarned at Richard; the lad was a fast talker for sure, she made mental note. In timely fashion, Sunrise leaned forward off her perch and made an easygoing, open handed, sweeping gesture of peaceful intentions that also seemed as if she were embracing the day as she stepped forward.

"Pal, you seem like a Dick to me rather than a Richard. Mind if I all ya Dick? We're appreciatin' such a warm welcome... By my reckonin' this ain't normal formals."

She fell into a slow, methodical, swaggering gait as she trailed behind a few paces.

"It's yer house so you set the tune. How's this gonna go?"