Altair arrived dressed all in black: black shirt, black pants, black boots, black vest. Black was better for sneaking, and anyway, Altair thought he looked fantastic in black. All of his clothing was expensive and well-made, of course. He might be going through the sewers, but that didn't mean he should be dressed like a pauper.
His tool belt, too was black, and contained everything he thought he would need in various pouches: his gun, extra ammunition, a coin purse, and his lockpicks. It was pretty much the same thing he always carried, except that he didn't feel the need to wear it under layers of brocade. He didn't have anyone to impress, after all, and no one would be there to judge his propriety.
He strode purposefully to the bridge where they'd all agreed to meet. Wil was the first one there, of course; Altair saw him lounging silhouetted against the night sky and smirked to himself in the dark. The man did have a strong sense of presence.
Altair said nothing as he reached the stone railing, just met Wil's eyes to acknowledge the other man's presence. Then, leaning against the wall himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for the rest of their party to arrive.