"Well, it looks like we're all friends here, aren't we?" Dodger said, allowing himself to fall backwards, landing with a muffled thud in the same chair he had been using for cover not too long ago. A cloud of dust filled the air around him, and a more than a few moths left, scared out of the home they had made in the old moldy cloth. He quickly flicked on his lighter, just for a second, to get a good look at the people who had gathered. The light seemed to flood the lobby, however the circle of light was actually rather small, to the point where someone outside wouldn't notice, unless they had been staring into this particular room of this particular building. "Well, look at we have here. One supposedly dead girl, an amateur sprayer, and some other people, who I'm guessing are Sprayers, am I right?" He asked, directing the question to no one in particular.
 
"Speaking of amateur Sprayers, how's the spraying been going, Clarion? Been getting into trouble like I told you?" He said, his tone jovial, however still in a silent, almost whispering voice. Not actually waiting for a response, he proceeded to remove the fuse from his molotov, take a swig of the Scotch inside, before screwing the lid and fuse tightly back on. Scotch calmed his nerves, and he felt like his nerves would need some calming soon. "So, as Clarion so eloquently put it, wassup?"