[Boy, it's been a while since someone genuinely recoiled from him. Ned quirks an eyebrow, but otherwise seems unbothered by the reaction—he's warming his hands here, and if there's a gang shoot out he's going to need them, so...

Priorities. But he puts on his (usually) most harmless look of good will just in case.]

Right now I am. If you ever want to chat about the proper way to press a shirt, look me up when we get to this backwater drip of a town. [He's too city for this place already. A beat, then he holds out a hand. Amicably. Without a gun.] Name's Ned.