"Ah -- s'called ghoulkin. Not all there yet. Obv'sly. Graveyard folk. Scavengers." He's not a man who gets nervous easily, who shows honest emotion readily. He defaults to a mask of manic, offensive cheer, barreling through life without a fuck given for who he upsets. But right now... yeah, he wants this to go over well.

"Had the blood in me all my life. When I figured it out -- shit, you know how my family was. Fuck that. Make a new one. Just fucked off last year, retired the art circuit, got too messed up t'pass well." He scratches the back of his neck. "It ain't catchin'. Ain't gonna be so rough when it's done, but it's gonna be a fuckuva while, yet."