The flick of his lighter was the first indication anyone was leaning against one of the columns surrounding the fountain. The trajectory of her throw happened to put the satchel in his direction, and the end of the cigarette he'd just lit flared as he reached out and caught the impromptu projectile with the hand he'd just freed of his lighter. He'd have to ration those cigs unless he could source more, or at least some tobacco. Fucking great.

"I don't think he gives a shit, lady." He comment uttered around his cigarette as he tucked her satchel under his arm. "Don't shoot the messenger."