[He could tell him those things, but Giovanni would be monumentally unimpressed-- it's hard for an artificially created lifeform such as himself to care anything for religion, it's not as though he believes himself in possession of a soul. And it really is just as well about the crown-- the sly digs and snarky comments would never have stopped.

As things stand he's treated to the other man's dismissive grunt, and as Sanzo rifles through the pod's contents and tosses his cast-offs in Giovanni's direction, the war hound catches them with a sigh, looks them over without enthusiasm. Really, this isn't the kind of attire he'd prefer to be seen in.]

You're one to talk about fashion statements.

[he says it wryly, holding up a camo jacket only to find it's far too big and bulky to fit his slim, 5'7 frame. Tosses it to one side.]

But alas, I suppose you're right. There's no saving this suit. And it was one of my favourites, too.