[He shouldn't really be in here. It's no place for something like him, and yet he's hardly in a position to argue with his Hander, incompetent and negligent as the man appears to be. He wants a drink, he says. You can wait, good Dog, don't maul anything.
Giovanni makes no promises.
Regardless, he's skulking about on the outskirts of the room, blending in and watching with an infinite kind of indifference when he sees a flash of orange hair, the dark shadow of an eyepatch, catches his scent as he turns his head and slowly, Giovanni smiles. It's not a pleasant expression, something knifey around its edges, and with smooth easy movements he cuts through the crowd until he's standing close to where Badou now sits, places both palms flat to the table. Leans in close.]
some nebulous time at the beginning of week 5
Giovanni makes no promises.
Regardless, he's skulking about on the outskirts of the room, blending in and watching with an infinite kind of indifference when he sees a flash of orange hair, the dark shadow of an eyepatch, catches his scent as he turns his head and slowly, Giovanni smiles. It's not a pleasant expression, something knifey around its edges, and with smooth easy movements he cuts through the crowd until he's standing close to where Badou now sits, places both palms flat to the table. Leans in close.]
Fucked is certainly the word for it.
[Hullo, there.]