Aimari decides to ignore the small man's outburst, especially since it made no sense. Of course she was referring to him, and it was obvious he was a foreigner.

Foreigners. Crazy, the whole lot of them.

Looking at the hand offered by Bartholemew for a moment, Aimari eventually extends her own, covered in shining armor. The bright red and gold are clearly polished, the craftsmanship of a quality that is clearly superior to most, even to an utter layman.

"Aimari." She says curtly, her voice quiet.