Arthur took the obvious hint. "I'm Arthur." Such a bunch of medieval names were probably never assembled in one place, though Arthur bore none of the legendary golden presence of his Camelot namesake. Quite the contrary, he had a quiet, morbid kind of look. Perhaps Bedivere, or Mordred. He might even do better off with his first name, with King John, the same one that everyone in British history enjoyed hating--John was rumored to be a good statesman in later history, regardless.
This Arthur, at any rate, appeared more the diplomat than the warrior to everyone except Raven, who had seen him with the gun. He straightened his expensive coat and in short order he looked like a man better tuned to investigating stock options than abandoned bus stops. "Thanks for the hospitality." He looked around to try to find out what kind of shop he was in.