"Jesus wept!" John startles at the sudden interruption to his frankly unhealthy interest in the little bit of magical disaster. The pipes on this kid. He still doesn't know what he's here for, exactly, but he is 100% certain that Dave is involved, by virtue of Zed's apparently spot-on description. Whether it's a good involvement or a bad one is up in the air.
He pulls on a personable smile, that's more cheeky than anything, because thinks he's a lot better at pretending to be a gentleman than he actually is, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his tan trenchcoat. "Sure do, mate. Got any more bits like this one around here?" He's not talking about lamps specifically, but he wants to know if Dave picks up on that, or if he plays dumb about it. (Or if he actually is dumb about it, but all signs point to probably not, at this point.)
Not that any of that is going to get him closer to what he needs, but that's the thing with John: when he doesn't know what to do, he starts throwing shit at the walls until something sticks. It's not the most elegant method, but John is not an elegant man.
He gives the kid a once-over: he's tall. Taller than John by an inch or three, if he had to guess. Skinny, though. Fresh-faced, young and intensely unassuming. He probably got shoved in his locker a fair bit as a lad. There's something about him, though, a bit of mystical survival instinct that prickles along the nape of John's neck and makes the hair there hair stand on end that tells him not to test his luck too hard.
Which, of course, he'll be dutifully ignoring for the duration of the evening. "Nice shoes."
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He pulls on a personable smile, that's more cheeky than anything, because thinks he's a lot better at pretending to be a gentleman than he actually is, and tucks his hands into the pockets of his tan trenchcoat. "Sure do, mate. Got any more bits like this one around here?" He's not talking about lamps specifically, but he wants to know if Dave picks up on that, or if he plays dumb about it. (Or if he actually is dumb about it, but all signs point to probably not, at this point.)
Not that any of that is going to get him closer to what he needs, but that's the thing with John: when he doesn't know what to do, he starts throwing shit at the walls until something sticks. It's not the most elegant method, but John is not an elegant man.
He gives the kid a once-over: he's tall. Taller than John by an inch or three, if he had to guess. Skinny, though. Fresh-faced, young and intensely unassuming. He probably got shoved in his locker a fair bit as a lad. There's something about him, though, a bit of mystical survival instinct that prickles along the nape of John's neck and makes the hair there hair stand on end that tells him not to test his luck too hard.
Which, of course, he'll be dutifully ignoring for the duration of the evening. "Nice shoes."