Croaks pulled in air through his teeth when Nina mentioned having expected him to step in. "It's Croaks, not just a croak", he corrected the info broker as he hurried her along. "And you counting on a gang boss that you've just met today isn't… who the fuck cares, you don't", he tried to speak sense to her for the one last time, but realised its futility halfway through. She took pride in dashing head first into a bog of bad circumstances, but there was also a point in it. That was how one got the info, by poking their head, ear or eye in a place it didn't belong in. And then kept their mouth shut until there was enough incentive to go on from that piece learnt on said little journey.

With the action figure of a man left behind, Croaks wasn't exactly in the mood for talking other than what was necessary. It was confirmed that he would be playing the 'bad cop' again, as was how the deal had been with Ribby earlier. But before they could even start, they would have to wait for the interrogatee to regains consciousness. Nina had let slip a few matters about herself. That she was somewhat of a bio-chrome expert. Great. That would come in handy to be sure. Wonder how long their roles would hold up after she started poking about their captive though. Croaks leaned back in the cushioned chair, his gun pointing at the floor next to him. Until the man woke up, there was no reason to aim at 'em. Only brought in accidents. They'd happened in the past, it had been a helluva mess to clean up, and as Nina had said they needed this one to get anywhere.

But nothing was happening. Just how long was this lad going to take? "Cool birthday you are having", Croaks commented to pass the time. "Running in and out of the bar somewhere in the combat zone, almost ending up wine shopping with an armed mountain of muscle but then returning to the old place to stare at an unconscious man and preparing to make his life hell once they are done with that nap they are taking." He shrugged, not particularly minding how that sounded. "Not that I'd actually celebrated since… ever", he reminisced, glancing upward at the ceiling as he tried to remember. "You seem like the sort that would care though."

He sighed. A dull bassline penetrated the door, the structure failing to stop the beat from reaching their ears despite Ribby having remotely turned off the speakers in the little room itself. After all, it was nothing more than a private lounge. A bit more bloody than usual, being their staple for this sort of little fun, but a little private lounge nonetheless. The song shifted. "Hell, you want a drink or someth-" Croaks was about to ask from Nina, but it was precisely then that the biker moved. "Well about fucking time!" Croaks rejoiced and raised his gun to chest level.

The first piece of noise their captive made was a groan of pain. Understandable. The second was drawing in a breath through his teeth. Even more so. Croaks rapped his fingers over the body of his gun once and drew a deep breath, sighing to mark that he was going to start this conversation off. "Yeah, you are in pretty deep shit pal", he offered the piece of information free of charge to the lad. "Didn't yo mama teach you not to go stirring up shit in the turf of other people? Look see, we eat here. We drink here. We live here. If I were to come to your house and shit on your carpet, you wouldn't like it any more than we did like just what you were up to out there."

Croaks saw how the man's eyes darted for the door, and before they had even realised they had moved towards the door the weapon in the room had been levelled on the path, the bead currently comfortably around the biker's shoulder. "Hold up now. I'm not asking you to clean your turd there mate. We've already seen to that. Just tickles me pink to not know why you'd go and do such a thing, hm? You wanna tell me and my friend here, or do I gotta get dirty with ya?"

Croaks gave Nina no sign to step in, but he had more or less said everything he had to say for himself. As the biker retracted back to their original spot, Croaks slowly lowered the gun just as well. The biker guy didn't seem convinced yet. But that was hardly the case when you only offered the stick, and the carrot wasn't anywhere to be seen. He was only looking for a way out here. Just on the foot they'd want him.

[@13org]