Eh. Little a column A. [ his voice is a lazy thing, fat and contented as a cat, as he reaches into his mouth and yanks a loose tooth. (crowbars to the face, nasty things.) it finds itself tossed to the corner of the elevator, for the man's associates to find and link back to him later. he wants them to know who be afraid of, after all. ] Little a column B. Think best on my feet anyhow.

[ he thinks so, anyhow. it's barely a milisecond's worth of a glance sidelong, at her, at how terribly handsome and just plain terrible she is in a pair of black gloves — he can't risk anything longer, because this is one of the few times he doesn't want to be caught peeking.

someone else might feel a little bad in this kind of situation, like they're contributing to the moral decay of an innocent party. or something like that. eridan thinks it's great fun. ]

Off night for 'em. We already got through the couple guys watchin' the parkin' garage, nobody saw us in the elewator — nobody heard anythin', so nobody's gonna be expectin' us when we go traipsin' into his office. Couple guys in there, maybe. An' him.

[ maybe his two point five kids. eridan didn't bother checking. ]

Oughta be real quick-like. We'll be outta here in time for dinner. [ he checks his handgun again (sleek, small, silenced, and maybe there's something thrilling about letting rose see this, flaunting his murderous streak), for the nth time. ]

Can't promise you no flowers, but in case you don't got any dinner plans...

[ light, easy. he's expecting to get shot down, but there's something about murdering people that keeps eridan in an ineffably good mood. ]