Pouring another drink yet again, he realized he was running out of whiskey, and pulled out more alcohol. "So Amelia is the burnt one right? The one missing half her face?" Although he tried to sound sensitive, he imagined it didn't dome out so smoothly as he would have hoped. "No disrespect," he added quickly. The feelings of affection and relief when she'd seen the burnt woman were still fresh in his mind. Not unlike the feelings he'd harbored for his sister. A seed of empathy developed a little bit, and he could feel it. Watching that woman get ripped away was a little too close to home with him. It hit him harder than he would have wanted to admit.<br/><br/>"Slimy huh? Must fit right in with scaly," he chided, filling her glass yet again. The rate of booze they were going through wasn't record setting by any amount, but it'd be impressive to someone of a weaker liver. Mentally chiding himself for being so catty, he offered up a rough apology. "Not meaning to be a dick, just didn't expect to wake up this way. Sorry," he muttered in between shots. Being friendly wasn't something he really had much experience in, especially since he specialized in killing other shit.