'Ho-ho-hoooo,' the punk laughed with a smirk, pushing past Nick to move toward Milo, 'pale-ale over there's got a mouth on him! Well, not a mouth [i]really,[/i] more like a lil' tame beak. Not good with words and all, yeah?'

'Er, what was that about talking to me?' Nick pointed out, to which the punk merely waved his hand lazily. 'Yeah, yeah, I'll get back to you. The old man over there seems to be having fun, go chat with him for a bit. I have to deal with the shitstain first.' At this, Nick made as though to point out that the "shitstain" was an abomination against life itself, but paused. On the one hand, he didn't exactly want to let an easily-avoided fight go down just like that, and on the other hand, he had no reason to want either of them alive, never mind stopping them from killing each other. One was a freak: a creature with superhuman abilities the likes of which mankind did not deserve to be subjected to, that the vast majority of people would not, could not, ever know existed for fear of how they'd overreact...

Okay, well, that applied to both of them, but the point stood. For once, it was better if Nick stepped back and let things play out. Whistling with hands in pockets, he sidled over to the green-skinned man, who aside from a fit of coughing seemed... rather pleased. He wondered if that had anything to do with being rather badly injured by an invisible ghost of some sort.

'So... sir,' Nick started somewhat awkwardly, 'you seem to be slightly injured. I'll just go ahead and help fix that, and maybe you can talk to me about what brings you here, the sort of thing you do for a living and all that.' Nick had no illusions about being able to cure whatever that green stuff was with the Ripple, but physical injury was well within his means: placing both hands on the man's chest, he began to breathe steadily, sending the energy through the man's body to knit together flesh and bone. He wondered, as he glanced back at the soon-to-be melee, which out of the punk and the vampire would die first.

[hr]

'Well, now, you short fuckin' bitch,' the punk lambasted whilst licking his teeth, 'sounds like you've got some beef. Or maybe not, I dunno, maybe you had some awful accident and cut off your junk as a kid. Heh. Wouldn't surprise me, if you're tryin' to make up for that with yer personality.' Leeroy spat to one side, 「Courtesy Call」 coming forth once again and punching one fist into the other hand a few times before cracking its knuckles. 'But that's beside the point. My need to chat with Nicky over there is based on a more important discussion than yours, whatever it is, and if you're gonna fight to get a spot, you're gonna end up pretty sore. Nah, I'm lyin'... you're gonna end up a [i]lot[/i] sore.' Inexplicably, Jenkins' tone had gone from semi-jovial to deadly serious in a heartbeat halfway through his previous sentence; his grin had been replaced with a rather grim expression. 'Now, I don't know if you can see my 「Courtesy Call」, but even if you can, the fact you haven't shown your Stand off yet kind of says it's not very good in combat. Like your dick in bed, heh... 'hem. So, either you jog on out of here, or I hurt you, [i]real bad.[/i] What's it gonna be, shithead?'

[@Gentlemanvaultboy][@Kafka Komedy]