"Yeah?" says John, looking a little offended. A puzzled squint of a smile, and he scratches fingers through his beard; he's wearing Danny's bone again by now, which probably doesn't really do much for his credibility. "Listen, mate — Armand." Mangling the French, the d landing sharp and hard sand sardonic. "You've got the wrong end of the stick. I don't kill for fun or food or whatever you've got going on. I'm here to fuck around and eat doritos." And he's not yet out of Doritos. There's a big bowl of them on the table; John takes one to make the world's most irritating crunching noise.