The girl looked up at him with a polite smile, but she seemed a little confused that he would decline her offer and then suddenly change his mind. Rightfully so, he supposed. Who knew what sorts of possibilities were running through her head as she studied his figure with speculative eyes. "I'm sorry," Tristan told her somewhat quietly as he began walking. "I have a lot on my mind and...I'll be honest, I'm feeling a little reclusive. But really, I could use a good distraction, some conversation. So...why not?" Every part of him yearned for the sanctity of his hotel room, of 'home', to be alone. And alone with your thoughts, he could hear Mick tell him. Tristan was down in Miami visiting his long time friend Mick Locke and he'd only just left the day before. The whole time he was there, it seemed his American friend was adamant about recommending the blonde be more social, more personable. "No wonder you drink so much," he'd say. "You have no friends but me, your family's gone, and your job isn't exactly full-time. You need company, Tristan. Someone to talk to." Tristan could almost imagine Mick grinning victoriously at him if he were there with him.
He took Aibhlinn's hand and shook it firmly. "Aibhlinn? Garrett Ashland," he lied smoothly with a hint of a polite smile on his thin lips. His name, his true name, was something he almost never gave out...for many reasons. Only people well deserving of his time, like Mick, would have such the privilege of calling him Tristan. As of late, he used the name Garrett for everyday encounters, and those who did business with him merely referred to him as Nix. "Do you mind if I stop by my hotel and grab another shirt? It's just around the corner, the Evergreen," he said, already walking towards it and glancing to make sure she followed. Tristan struggled to think of something else to say to her--he was never a man of many words--so he stayed mostly silent as he took the elevator up to his hotel suite--a clean, decently furnished place. He paused at the door, pulling his key from his pocket. Did he dare let her in? Perhaps he ought to do a scan of the suite to make sure nothing....questionable was out where she could see it? He decided on the latter as he said, "give me a moment to...tidy up the place so you have somewhere to sit, mm?" the smile he offered her was halfway embarrassed as he slipped carefully inside the door and shut it behind him.
How un-Reidanian of me not to just let her walk in... he thought. Oh, what his mother would say! Surely she would chastise him for being a bad host, even his brother might shoot him a sharp glare. Things had changed since he came to the states. Despite what his mother might have said, Tristan was glad he took a moment to clear up the room before letting her in. On the table lay his revolver, a .38 special that he carried since he was a teen. He scooped it up and quickly went to stash it in his maroon-canvas duffle bag before hurrying to open the door. "Sorry," he said to Aibhlinn, stepping back to let her inside. "Have a seat, I'll be back in a moment." Tristan disappeared into the small bedroom and shut the door, lest she see him without a shirt. The blonde pulled on a gray t-shirt that well-hid the sig-saur pistol tucked in the small of his back, tossed the soiled clothes in the laundry pile, and re-entered the tiny living room. "I apologize again," he said, his accent thick. "Anyway, shall we.....?"