Nino, being perhaps not the peg-iest peg on the social washing line, only noticed the souring flavour of the conversation the minute it hit brutal-tongue-pruning-rock bottom. Like enlightenment did Buddah, the truth of the moment dawned on Nino. That truth was that Cain wasn't necessarily going to put up with or lump his loudmouth compadres the same way Nino did (and not that the Italian could blame him), unfortunately he realised about half a minute too late. He realised just in time to catch Cain storming off with a sorry, "Umm..."<br/><br/>"Oi!" he bolted back after the kid, "Cain! C'mere!" without thinking he reached out, fingers hooking around the material of the slinky boys sleeve, "Just..." his tone dropped to a gentle murmur, holding a firm, but sympathetic eye contact, "I know she's a bit ... forwards, but<span style="font-style: italic">trust me</span>, she isn't a bad gal,"