I like talking. Finding things out about folks...Isn't that grand?

[Never mind that it's a distraction away from any actual skill, which seems to be somewhat of a multiversal constant. Step step step, closer and closer until he's within swinging range, but swing he does not.

Instead, he drops onto his haunches and grins wide, reaching out to grab a fistful of that jacket, something, anything to hang onto the intruder.]

So, what's some rich kid like you doing in a place like this, before the opening date? Backstreet punks don't have the dosh for a mask fancy like that, I know that much.