[Who are you? It was only like, a week ago when Dixon had a good answer for that question that started with an imperious tone to rival hers and ended with a swagger. But he doesn't get to respond with some variation of "I'm the one who makes the rules around here" anymore, and so he gapes at this girl for a minute, not quite sure how to fish up a good answer until he somehow manages to croak out-]

Dixon. Don't have an idea in hell who you are, though. Or where this is.

[The inside of his head feels like scrambled eggs, what with this bizarre turn of events. Somehow, it's her accent that really throws him. It's not the kind that you typically hear in his neck of the woods.

He gestures at the sword on her back. It's a clumsy kind of movement, especially since his still-asleep arm is weighed down by the shield.]

Are you sure you're supposed to be carrying that around? That an antique or something?