[ Dickerson meets that sidelong look steady on, tired and sick and tough to read. ]

I’ve been tending to the Grippe-stricken in the city, [ you know, helping people where his true expertise (theoretically) lies, ] but I’m happy to -- [ he shrugs one shoulder, ] ‘assist’ with vigilante justice. [ The if that’s what makes you happy is silent.

He lets eye contact linger a beat before he fades out again, nihilistically confident that Loxley is not a baby bird, and that even if he was, this would be a very small ledge to nudge him off of. ]

You’re offering them the benefit of your experience, not begging for employment.