Piotr lets out a totally unsurprised hm. "Of course," he murmurs, still stone-faced. "And I'm sure your galactic mercenaries welcomed you with open arms. Perhaps it was the novelty that sold them on it."

If his wife were here, she might accuse him of being needlessly cruel, but she isn't, and so he doesn't give that thought any weight. His eyes harden and he leans forward, and if there was any chance trace of amusement on his face before, it's gone now.

"I've made my stance clear on interlopers. I have even less tolerance for conmen." The words aren't quite said through his teeth, but they might as well be bared. After a beat, he draws back, straightening. "If you're going to work, you can start here. The stalls need cleaning, and you seem to know what you're doing here, at the very least."

He really doesn't buy into that bunk about this man being a strategist, or whatever, and like hell Piotr's going to let him into the war tent.