[ Amos raises his eyebrows, taking a longer drink this time, never breaking eye contact. He puts his glass down on the bar, rests his elbow beside it. A comfortable position. He's settled in. ]
Don't think I will.
[ His voice is low but almost amiable. Like, hey, he's just having a quiet, pleasant conversation. The threat underneath it all, the way he won't take his eyes off of Sam, is barely even there. ]
no subject
Don't think I will.
[ His voice is low but almost amiable. Like, hey, he's just having a quiet, pleasant conversation. The threat underneath it all, the way he won't take his eyes off of Sam, is barely even there. ]
Not exactly the one trying to start shit here.