For a second John looks around and seems as if he's considering the merits of just bolting, of making an excuse for why he has somewhere he needs to go.

"Sure," he says finally, and his tone is light and airy in contrast to the awkward stiffness in his body-language. "Pick a place and I'll wait outside or something, make sure nobody jumps us." You know, shamans or bandits or just people who dislike refugees. He begins to walk again, reflexively reaching out to touch Ianto's arm for a second and draw him along in his wake. "Though you should know I have limited opinions on fashion, so I'd just recommend waterproof and sturdy. Aren't any tailors in my family."

Unlike Ianto's dad, apparently.