He just hauls Venom along. Unlike the Reinhardt of the future, this one in the past doesn't try to shorten his steps. He strides with the full length of his long legs and forces others to keep up with him. He seems wilder, more cocksure. The noble lion in his prime, before he gained the wisdom of age.

"Of course it's necessary! You are a fan. We Crusaders have a responsibility to give our fans only our very best. Balderich said so. It's for you, the people, that we fight. Or something like that." He sometimes tunes out the lectures he's always getting, about the bad example he sends. Carousing. Boasting. Flirting with everything that moves.

"So, the set is this way. We're doing posters this time. But I'm told that later on, if we get the okay from German Parliament, we'll be doing more calendar shoots." His eyebrows waggle, indicating that those pictures are not exactly something fit to hang in the office. "And of course, he won't just let us sit on our butts while you're here. We'll probably do some light sparring. If there is, I'd like to wear your favor. You have a favor, right?" If not, Reinhardt will surely come up with something.