At the mention of his pursuer's profession, the woman's smile wavered. "Bounty hunter?" she echoed, slowly drawing her hand back away from him. Why in the world would this Varin person have a bounty on his head? Had he done something illegal? Killed someone? That same oil-stained hand itched to grab her gun that was tucked beneath her shirt, but she fought the urge as her emerald gaze sized him up further. There was not much to size up, considering he was even shorter than she was; it was not often that she encountered someone who she stood above. That went a long way in assuring her he was harmless. Still, a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she was short too, and still dangerous enough when she needed to be. Who was to say he did not also have a gun hidden away?

There was no need to inquire further - he picked up on her concerns immediately. The creature with the hair like coal lifted a hand in the universal gesture of reassurance. "I have broken no laws." He hesitated for the briefest moment, reevaluating the statement he had just made. Then, to amend it, he added, "Well, none of your laws, at least. These men are from my country." Which is why they look the same, Rayleigh mused, but she remained silent as her new acquaintance continued to speak. "They have come to retrieve me. To return me to a man who considers me his."

His? Ray stared blankly, her mind trying to put the pieces together. His what? Child? Lover? Then her eyes widened, as it was her turn to read between the lines. "Slave?" came her whisper, barely audible, as if she could not even bring herself to say it.

Varin opened his mouth to correct her, then closed it again. His weight shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and as glanced past her, his hand moved to rub fondly on the bird. "Similar enough, yes," he answered finally. "I am a servant."

"Unpaid?" Rayleigh demanded, some of the hesitation replaced by hot anger. "Against your will?" Her freckled cheeks flushed as she jabbed a short finger in his direction. "That's slavery, doesn't matter where you come from." She rubbed at her face, as if trying to wipe the rage away with the thick sweat. Then she took a deep breath, drawing Varin's attention back to her. "Listen," she began, "if its smell you're trying to cover, you've probably found the right girl. I always smell bad." When Varin tilted his head, perplexed, she continued quickly. "Like, I stink. Because of my work. I work in the shop, as a mechanic, and I'm always covered in grease. It smells really strong. Maybe we could take you back and put some on your clothes." Ray shrugged. "Think that would be enough?"