The accent had already more or less given the boy's place of origin away but the name clinches it. He nods slightly, tolerant of mistakes in those who simply don't know better yet. Besides which, for having just arrived this morning, he's doing quite well.

"Aleksei," who wasn't quite at the age where Julien would start calling him Mr. Volkov. "I am Julien, Nine of Spades." There is no hand held out to shake, there is no answering bow, there is still the very barest of hesitations between his name and his rank. Nine still fits wrongly in his mouth when Ace is what belongs there.