Immediately, Manson turned towards Keena with a playful smirk. "I'm here to stop you getting yourself killed." he informed, cheerfully, though the teasing glimmer that had previously bubbled excitedly in his eyes had now been doused, replaced instead by something darker.<br/><br/>"I assume I didn't tell you how qualified I am. I can fight, I can shoot, I can track. But anyone can do that." His smile dropped, then, too, hands in front of him. "I came here to deliver what my father left for you, and I have come about the job. But I'm not enquiring. I'm expecting. You and I both know you'll find no one more suitable. Beyond my aforementioned skills, I care about yourself, and about Keena. I remember she used to force me to play with her when we were kids. I won't let any harm come to her. That, and I'm very hard to lie to."<br/><br/>Another smirk exploded upon his lips as he said that, and he straightened his blazer, almost triumphantly. "But I understand if you'd prefer a trial run of sorts. I don't mind. However you're best made comfortable. We can discus payment later."<br/><br/>Once more, his eyes drifted to Keena, hungry for more information; with every glance at a person, Manson could draw a slightly larger picture of them. The state of their hands, their body language, the stains on their clothes - Manson liked people, liked their little details, the tiny, inconsequential nothings that could, in actuality, mean everything. They made his previous job, as a fence, much easier. He knew who to trust and whose words had no merit. And he would not be beaten by this young girl.