Jail's just another Alehouse

With a light chuckle Colt made sure the man secured away the spoon. He wasn’t currently aware of what the cell locks were like, but experience had taught him that most were poorly designed.

THe answer to his question though had his expression deflate with a slow sigh, Well, not gonna lie Smithy, that’s pretty tragic. Then he said something weird, it made him blink hard enough his head shifted back to regard him. A carefully wrapped set of picks had been sewn into the seam of his inner shirt, right where the man pointed.

You sure you ain’t a mage? he quizzed, hand shifting to rub over the seam absently, like he was just patting himself down. How you do that?