Billy stood, listening carefully to what the others had to say. So, introductions was it? He could handle that. Taking a pack of Reds from his jacket's breast pocket, he tapped on out and lit it while the others made their greeting. He smoked like a fiend, just a habit of the old days that he never felt the need to give up; it was part of his disguise anyway, especially around the bikers, since if he quit cold turkey they'd all take notice. Once he had a good cherry going, he flicked his Zippo closed and exhaled through his nose.<br/><br/>"Billy Mac Pipersson, only survivin' member of the Southern Cross pack. Given time, I can get anythin' from Glocks to plastique explosives, and if we range down South I can get a helluva lot more." Taking another drag, he spoke through the acrid fumes pouring from his mouth with every syllable. Looking to the others one by one down the line, he crossed his arms loosely over his chest before adding, "Oh yeah, I'm a Pander too. Just in case you got a problem with havin' a Mutt in the gang. Proud of it, and I ain't no one's bitch, so don't get any ideas 'bout makin' me yours. You try that road, I'll be the one fuckin' you in the ass."<br/><br/>His parting words were entirely without heat, but it was obvious he meant it sincerely from the way he turned to meet every pair of eyes as he spoke, not cowed in the slightest by the Bishop's presence or that the rest of them were members of a clan. The law having been laid down, at least for the moment, he gave the Bishop a respectful nod and took a short step backward, making it clear he had said his piece. If that wasn't enough of a challenge to the assembled Cainites, he wasn't True Sabbat.