Hawke's scattered, although she would call it remarkably adaptable and untethered by tight control. She has a tendency to let her mouth wander. He seems fit and capable, and it started to dawn on her he might not have done it for the reasons she thought. Her eyes narrow, and she crosses arms against her chest. "Listen, maybe you can do that where you're from, but around here? What used to work doesn't always anymore. Or so I've heard. I've always been basic at best." Well trained, a killing machine, but nothing special otherwise. Her sister had all the power.

Oh, he's bowing. Oh, he's one of those polite types. Hawke came from a noble bloodline, so she vaguely knew the proper way to do things, but it's been so long since she attempted to remember that. She doesn't wear skirts, so she bows back, with perhaps a little bit of a flourish of her hand with it. For fun. She is, however, more than a bit uncomfortable when people notice when she does good things. It's a bizarre twist of fate, to do good things and hate when it's acknowledged. So she waves a hand airily.

"Anyone would've done it." She knew so many people who would not do it, but she wasn't going to add that. After a pause she offers her hand, calloused and strong from years of fighting each day to survive. "I'm Hawke." A smile started to peek through.