The most galling part of this entire thing, Liam thinks as he bats Marquis d'Whatever's hands away from trying to pull him into a hug for what must be the thousandth time, is that he would make a perfect target. Just a month ago, he would have been the bandit lurking in the shadows, waiting to kill his escort and rob this man absolutely stinking blind. Not that Liam hadn't already liberated the man's coinpurse and a shiny trinket or five from him the last time he slumped over unconscious directly on top of him, but it's not like he won't also be looted when the inevitable happens. (What? It's not like the Marquis will remember any of this, and if anything, someone at the Hanged Man will probably get blamed.)

He is just reaching the end of his rope, where the urge to drop the nobleman and book it to save his own skin almost overpowers him—diplomatic worth be damned—when he spots someone else from the Inquisition. Someone Inquisition-adjacent, at least.

"Hey! Help me with this idiot," he calls over as forcefully as he dares, given how rife the streets of Lowtown are with... well, his own sort of people, this late at night.

He duly ignores the slurred, indignant and heavily accented "how dare you!" from the drunk man, as well as the subsequent, tremulous: "I thought we were friends."

For someone so allergic to any real worthwhile work, Liam seems downright delighted to be here. He hasn't even looked at the body, or the house they were sent to inspect, except a brief and cursory glance around to try and find anything valuable to loot, but instead he seems to be knocking dolls aside and studying the spiders that come skittering out from behind them.

"Have you seen anything black with a red mark on it? Or with a yellowish-brown body?" A beat, and then he actually looks up from where he is crouched in front of a particularly nasty looking spider web teeming with activity. "Don't touch it if you do."

How much would one of these things sell for, do you think?