There was a moment's hesitation before he took the offered hand, then as soon as he was on his feet he let go and leaned one shoulder against the wall for support instead. Adrian probably didn't even need the mask to keep his identity secret from Aimery; he still wasn't all that familiar with his voice and he was definitely not looking at his face. Instead, he stared at the oddly detailed costume while he swiped at his face with the back of his hand in an attempt to disguise his still fairly obvious boggling. His talent was working again—it must've been something the man who ran away had or did that stopped it— and in a split second Aimery's clothes and face were perfectly blood-free. The ground at his feet, not so much.

"That was... very impressive. I suppose I should've brought my sword out with me tonight," he said with a nervous laugh. Between shock, alcohol, and the popular concept of theatrical vigilantes being several hundred years younger than he (costumed bandits, on the other hand...), Aimery had no idea what to say or even what to do. Was he supposed to pay him? Call for the watch? Offer to clean his armor for him?