Had he the time to get hold of them without people disappearing, he could get Jim. Or Brunswick. Both of them and that'd be risking questions getting asked of him by people he doesn't want to answer to when it's something like this but it'd be handy to have them or even Hulda's scarred face with her faded brand. This though--
Flapping a hand at Ellana, Yngvi hurries over after a count of three careful heartbeats then presses his body to the door and listens. Listens carefully to footsteps falling away as he digs through a pocket to come up with as many caltrops as he can keep in his hand without risk of dropping them. Might work. Might not. But the steps all moved away and so did the voices and Yngvi didn't spend so many years trying hard to keep his dinners to himself to not know how to quickly memorise a signal knock on the fly.
"Just-- be ready yeah? Might get tasty," he warns her as he leans back from his listening spot. No telling how many are in there or what they're up to and she's a mage she's probably got shit she can get on with to help out. With the empty hand he knocks flawlessly. Not too confidently but casual, someone doing it regular. Waits. Waits more. And waits some more. Nothing. "F'fuck'sake," one quick oath under his breath, "what sort of operation is this meant to be? The Poison Tits do better work and they're tits." He tries again.
Waits. Waits again.
Stuffs all but one caltrops back in his pocket to get the brass knuckles on to go have a feel about for the mechanism, there's always something on this end because there has to be, it's how they were made and-- "Get in." Not that that's actually an instruction, he's just happy he found it and slightly alarmed because fuck him he's got the door open or unlatched an inch and now what.
no subject
Flapping a hand at Ellana, Yngvi hurries over after a count of three careful heartbeats then presses his body to the door and listens. Listens carefully to footsteps falling away as he digs through a pocket to come up with as many caltrops as he can keep in his hand without risk of dropping them. Might work. Might not. But the steps all moved away and so did the voices and Yngvi didn't spend so many years trying hard to keep his dinners to himself to not know how to quickly memorise a signal knock on the fly.
"Just-- be ready yeah? Might get tasty," he warns her as he leans back from his listening spot. No telling how many are in there or what they're up to and she's a mage she's probably got shit she can get on with to help out. With the empty hand he knocks flawlessly. Not too confidently but casual, someone doing it regular. Waits. Waits more. And waits some more. Nothing. "F'fuck'sake," one quick oath under his breath, "what sort of operation is this meant to be? The Poison Tits do better work and they're tits." He tries again.
Waits. Waits again.
Stuffs all but one caltrops back in his pocket to get the brass knuckles on to go have a feel about for the mechanism, there's always something on this end because there has to be, it's how they were made and-- "Get in." Not that that's actually an instruction, he's just happy he found it and slightly alarmed because fuck him he's got the door open or unlatched an inch and now what.