"<span style="color: red">Yes... yesss... that's it...</span>"<br/><br/>><i><b>KNOCK-KNOCK</b></i><<br/><br/>"<span style="color: red">Shit!</span>"<br/><br/>Amid the vile swearing poured a pale gray smoke from the seams around the door and windows of Angelo's trailer. A sound resembling something that was fairly whippy slapping over wood could be heard as well, tangling itself with the profanities, both English and Greek. A few coughs, a groan and a sigh later, Angelo opened the door to his wagon. He was without a hat or jacket, but still wore the lower half of his rather fine, Tuscan red zoot suit. Toying with the suspenders a bit, aiming to situate them over his shoulders properly, the pyrotechnician leaned against the door frame, looking rather nonchalant about the smoky mess.<br/><br/>Angelo raised a brow at the one who'd given a knock, his attitude seeming very casual, a striking contrast with what one would expect in a situation that may or may not include one's living space being set aflame. Giving a nod at them, he said, "<span style="color: red">Ah, please excuse the smoke, he has quite a foul tongue. What can I help you with?</span>"<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>