[ Coal-gray eyes flick up over Amos, deep and lightless; despite the perpetual smile on his face and the way he demurs to the other man's presence, there's an undercurrent of something insincere about the way Douman holds himself, the patronization of someone who thinks that they know exactly how people will react to him at every given moment.

An ultimately benign annoyance, perhaps. Douman laughs at the mention of Mr. Tibbs, whose neck Douman still wants to hold between his teeth. You know, just Normal People Thoughts.

He stays where he is, when Amos approaches. All six foot five of him, garish like a bruise in the blue-white of their surroundings. ]

Mm, I do make it a habit to have tricks at my disposal! [ A flick of his hand, and he conjures a paper doll from under his wide sleeve; it floats in place, the mono-eye painted on its torso staring at Amos, unblinking. ] As much as this world has attempted to neuter us, some things remain inherent, perhaps.

[ He hums. ] Have you run into any trouble yet?