[Paolo wastes little time at the sudden movement, raising the arm towards the Clockwork, the metal of his wristbow glinting in the lamplight. It isn't trained on the head— he holds still, aimed towards the open panel. His eyes, however, narrow and alert, trained on Jindosh as the thing speaks.

And then his shoulders shake with laughter. The mechanics of the bow recede, and the outstretched hand comes to cover a wide grin. The chair he's seated in drags against the hardwood with loud screech as he stands, shaking his head. He wipes the corner of his eye.]

So you're the little prick that made these... freaks. [He starts his approach. It's true, with Jindosh thinks—he hardly looks more than a dirty thug. He hasn't dressed for the job, his shoes still unpolished, stained by Abbey knows what runs along the Dust District. He stops before him, hands clasped together, his grin dissipated to a polite smile. His eyes are the same.]

Sheer... dumb luck. I don't think so. No, no, Kirin Jindosh. [He says it slowly, like he's testing the name on his tongue. He scrunches his nose, like it's sour.] I got here... through quick reflexes, and good instincts. And you got here... because you were Abele's little bitch, right?