Those eyes he's just complimented - pale against a tanned, lined old face, pale and unimpressed - flick down Jack's body and up again, and Roland grunts. The thin line of his mouth pulls thinner as he hears it behind him - "Shame!" calls the woman, from the crowd, who's been following him since the moment that lantern'd come off his hand. He'd be impressed with her skills, keeping up with him, if it wasn't such a damned pain in the ass.

"I only need you for a couple minutes. Think you could stare somewhere more private?"

("Shame!" comes that nasal voice again, closer.)

"Quickly, before the crowd catches up with us?"