[ wow excuse you isabela, he's a lizard ] I see. [ He sizes her up as she turns, mostly for weapons, though it's hard to miss the gold ornaments and antique dress code. Beyond that, he's more focused on peering through the door from where he is, eyes narrowed in a slight squint. There's not too much inside, which is to be expected, as the Omega elite wouldn't be caught dead with an exclusively mechanical lock. Probably wouldn't mind if it was one of the rich she was mugging anyway; you couldn't turn a profit on this station without trampling some innocent people underfoot. Turnabout's fair play, et cetera.

But that's neither here nor there, and instead he's left at an impasse. There's no aggressive posturing on his end, tone civil as he leans a shoulder on a nearby wall. Doesn't look like he plans on leaving. ] Unfortunate -- I can't offer much more than a credit chit and personal debt. [ A beat, and a subtle turn for the sardonic in his voice. ] So how do you propose we resolve this?