And Deacon smiles, then, wide enough that his own fangs are on display but that really is just the physicality of the action than anything else. "Then I'll get the fuck out of your way," he states. A simple solution. A few steps later and he's dragging a seat around to stake out his own spot at the table. "I'll tell you, you two are doing better at this than me when I first came to Baedal."

He gets out a cigarette, not yet lighting it, just a fidget between fingers where it twirls baton-like. "I got by fine, to clarify. If you can't work that much out once you're out of the Inn then Jesus. But when it came to where to hang? Have a nice time? That was dire.

"So I made my own," in conclusion, a tilt of his head to indicate Gutters as he sets about lighting up. "Deacon, by the way."