[Something more malicious-- well. He's certainly capable of it, and the whispered promise of that capability shows in the sharp angles of Giovanni's body, the cutting smile that splits his face like a wound, the teeth that are just a little too sharp. There's threat here...but the onset of escalation has yet to come, perhaps won't. He's held pinned like a butterfly under glass by the fact that he's currently closely watched and guarded, rendered almost (almost) harmless by his own sick desire to belong to something, to ground himself against anything whilst Mother's six-fingered hands are unable to hold the leash. He has no intention of doing anything that will lead him to be cut off from the small threads of familiarity he's begun to form here. He's learned his lesson there.

And beyond all that, he doesn't care quite as much as he perhaps ought to, plagued as he has always been by a bonedeep detachment from anything that isn't the violent past that made him. It's hard for him to hold on to feelings of resentment or anger when they come from a source that, ultimately, barely matters.

Sorry Keith, but you're still in the 'barely matters' camp right now. Which is a step up from 'complete indifference', but not by so very much. He's certainly not prepared to use the f-word for anyone around these parts, yet.

That won't stop him from playing on your obvious discomfort, though.]

Oh, I'm well aware of what it looked like. And yet you had your chance to ask me whether the charges leveled against me were accurate, did you not? Your friend Lance used the opportunity to request an explanation. He didn't rush out, baying for my blood.

[A little closer still, almost touching now.]

You're quite a different sort, it seems.