[right][h2][color=999999]Lost in Translation[/color][/h2][@Tlazolteotl][@silver21][@Stanifly]
[/right]

[color=brown]"You flatter me, lady."[/color] Morgan lets out a genuine chuckle. [color=brown]"But there's some kinda catch, ain't there?"[/color]

He blinks.

The bar is gone, replaced with a booming club venue. Sirpa and Teresa are nearby, he notes them for a moment before focusing on the lone man drinking at a table a little further away. He lets out a sigh--had his arms been natural, he'd have stretched, crack his joints a bit; he settled on popping his neck. 

[color=brown]"Always a catch..."[/color]

He listens to the employee. Figure out another person's catharsis to get out. Seemed simple enough. Just talk to the man at the table, get it over with, and go back to his little purgatory... Clubs, bars, wherever the hell; they all gave him bad memories. His shoulders tense, metallic fingers constantly furling and unfurling in anticipation, but nothing comes of it.

He turns to Sirpa with a look of concern, hand extended. He never liked the look of scared people. [color=brown]"You alright there, little lady? Ain't nothin' to be afraid of in here."[/color]

[color=brown]"Plenty 'o' folks to keep you safe."[/color] He gestures to Teresa and eyes the crowd again. They're lost in the moment--a dancing mass moving with the beat; there's only a single outlier sitting by his lonesome, still there, still drinking. [color=brown]"Doesn't look like a fight'll break out anyhow."[/color]