It must be a dream come true for Lyall, because for once he's utterly ignored. Harrowheart enters as soon as he's invited and takes his helmet off with haste. Underneath the enchanted armor is a handsome gentleman horse-faced dead fool. He's smiling broadly, if with some obvious guilt. Everyone else in the room is immediately forgotten when he hears the lady of the hour say his name.

He makes his way to her with a hand, bound where it belongs by a gauntlet, extended for a shake. "Naw, Miss. I'm Steve Rogers. There's a short lil' blonde guy with floppy hair, he's Harrowheart. If you ain't met him yet I'm sure he'll show up soon." He hardly passes a few seconds before he chuckles at his own joke in a winded sort of way, as if his rush to his friend's apartment actually took some energy out of him.

"Just hope I didn't make too bad an impression comin' late. I got guard duty at the citadel, couldn't get out of it. You know how oaths of fealty go." A little eye roll and another smile. He spends a moment then inspecting her, still smiling as he considers her, the way she looks, the way she holds herself. What is there to know about her at a glance?

When he's through he gives her a small tip of his head. "You got me at a bit of a disadvantage here, though. Don't think I could begin to guess your name... but somethin' tells me it ain't Harrowheart or Steve."