"And I have a gimp leg, but you hardly see me making a production out of it." He cants his head to the side, as if thoughts are allowed to settle too much in place if they aren't swished around occasionally. "Do you even have an endgame, lad, aside from meandering around making a fool of yourself until detoxing kills you?"

He sets the knife on the ground and kicks it away, then takes a step forward, then another, hands as limp as if they would never think to fold into fists.

"I'm offering to do you mercy."