The door opens- and Warsman blinks. He's always known that Hattie was royalty, of course, but somehow he hadn't expected... well, maids. Not like this, anyway. Robin had housekeepers back in England, too, but nothing so elaborate.

"Yes... yes, that's me." If he sounds a little bewildered, it's because even when he stayed with Robin he wasn't sure of just how to address the man's maids. He always feels as though he's being too polite, or not polite enough, or too personal. Maybe he's just spent so much of his life closer to their end of the spectrum than Robin's or Hattie's that he's not sure how to place himself comfortably anymore.

After a slightly awkward pause, he sweeps his poncho off of his shoulders; he's in his wrestling gear, as always, but she seems to be expecting something and so he hands it over (though she will, in all likelihood, be somewhat disappointed by the sparse contents of the wallet within).

"Thank you." He can, at the very least, do gratitude. He tilts his head curiously at the young woman as he follows her through- Hattie's been busy, he can see that. "I'm sorry. I don't think I caught your name."