Dressed in black slacks, a grey colored shirt carelessly unbuttoned along the top three buttons to show off a white undershirt over a handsome chest and boots sticking out from under the cuffs, Tori looked every inch the consumate playboy. It was a look he had worked had to perfect because people tended to stare at playboys without seeing them. It also helped him wear sunglasses even indoors, serving to hide his eyes and make later description to the police difficult. "Tall, hot and wearing sunglasses" had an amazing effect on the blood pressure of whatever sketch artist had been called in for that particular instance. He almost thought he should have been getting paid by the pharmacies for all the prescriptions doctors had written. A black cuff around his left wrist, devoid of a watch face, had only an infinity symbol on the underside of it. Blond hair was spiked and pulled back with what had to be enough gel to drown any three small lizards.<br/><br/>He walked down the hallway idly, running his hand along the wall in no particular pattern, his fingers brushing over doorknobs and pictures. "When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie, that's<em>amore</em>.." The old Dean Martin song lyrics were barely said, a quiet patter running through his head to help drown out the numbers that insisted on crowding in. Odds of avoiding a police patrol making the rounds through the hospital: 1 in 350. Odds of the janitor spilling his water down the hall opposite oneself: 1 in 50. Odds of the next door being open: 1 in 2. Math and probability streamed through his head unbidden and unorganized, each one begging to be altered, shifted, manipulated. They screamed at him, but Tori shut them out and focused on finding what he wanted. It was a little routine of his that once a month, he made his way somewhere and hunted out a person who needed his help. Penance, like his Catholic mother had taught him, for the sins he committed in his pursuit of justice.<br/><br/>"When you dance down the street, with a cloud on your feet, that's<em>amore</em>..." He rounded another corner, fingers still trailing over the doorknobs. Without warning, one gave under his hand and he stumbled left, barely catching his balance on the table just inside the door. Tori looked up, his eyes searching out the others in the room; a crying woman and a doctor, looking none-to-happy himself. "I'm sorry," he deadpanned, straightening himself and rubbings his palms on his pants, "but did I come at a bad time?"