Brushing his fingertips against the desk, Les let out a restrained, "oh." He looked at his fingertips and rubbed them together, wiping away the non-existent dust. He was either a very clean man, or very new. Les couldn't decide which possibility was more interesting. "Well then, Mr. Reder. Felix." He looked back up at the waiting hand, then shook it, a soft handshake, his fingers trailing down the other man's palm when it was done. "Nice to meet you. Call me Les."<br/><br/>He gave him a smile, unable to decide whether playing up his confidence was working, or just making him seem weird. His insides felt jittery, and he considered that years ago he would have had a thousand ways to make it stop. Now he just had to deal with it-- or drink it away, but he couldn't do that if he wanted to commit to this whole new arm thing. He inhaled sharply through his nose, then sat.<br/><br/>"So, forgive me, but I still don't really understand this whole thing," Les started, hesitating before removing his jacket, letting it rest on the back of his chair. The shirt underneath had short sleeves, revealing the straps that held his prosthetic in place.<br/><br/>"Like, they told me a little during the interviews and stuff, but I'm a little... dense, I guess." He tittered, his lips pressed together, his half-smile offering a hint of his anxiety. After some fumbling, Les loosened the straps from his elbow and wiggled the plastic from his forearm. It was tight, and there was a light ring of red on his skin when he took off his arm sock. He had gotten the prosthetic second hand, literally. "I get that you'll probably be reshaping my arm. And that there could be more than that. But what exactly is the plan? And sorry if I come off rude, but what's your role in all this?"<br/><br/>Les set the hand in his lap and looked back to Felix, his expression one of restrained confusion, his brows furrowed slightly. He had no qualms with surgery-- his arm had required plenty of it when he had first lost the hand. His main concern, or so he told himself, was that he wouldn't be able to work. Granted, he had already told his day job he might not be able to wait tables for a while. But things with clients were a little more... complex.