[Richie's brows pop northward. For an instant he wonders if the fuck up was so serious it deserved the cuffing, but Byerly smoothes that one over quick.

Yet another puzzle piece locks into place. Yes, it's a good cover. Playing the braying ass, distracting people from your capabilities with a shield of repugnance, debauchery. (Poor phrasing even for an internal monologue, for now he has an unbidden flash of the pair of them naked and entwined and his lips turn so skinny his face might look like a clear wash of peach. He doesn't remember the whole night but there's not enough spots in his memory to forget what they did. Richie huffs to regain composure, looking suddenly to his feet and turning red at the ears.)]

But not messy enough that your cousin could still weasel his way into power. That's...well that's good. I'm assuming. [He looks back to Byerly.] They said you're a civilian member. So what does that mean? You've got a limit on you, but you've still got to put your ass on the line, clearly. What do they expect of you?

[He'd implied that he'd been involved with murder. "I'm Vor, Ricchio." To what degree?]