Anri listens, hands shoved into his pockets as he does so. None of it is pleasant, and he half wants to curl his fingers into his palms protectively, but his pockets keep him from doing that. Maybe for the better. Losing his fingers isn't on his list of things to do... and neither is losing his tongue. Or dying period.

"Make a lot of friends that way?" Any friends? At all? Ever? Do you even friend, lady?