[The dark-nailed hand is a little tacky, almost as if this guy is a try-hard. Weirdly, it's not the stupid horns or the stupid fur-lined jacket that tips Jason off. It's the nail polish. He focuses on them and does a meaningful lift of his eyebrows, as if he's giving off the idea of "judgement."

Deep down inside, he's still a kid. And black nail polish is just an element of something he's struggling to put his finger on.]

I handle it just fine. Do you? If you're so quick to not teach me crappy lyrics, how do I know you aren't giving up on me already? [If he had any strong attachment to this conversation, these words might cut deep into his own flesh.

But they don't and he doesn't. It's a new meeting, in a new place, and he's hoping to use it to his advance.

That he can find the words that would cut deep is just ... a side effect of it all.]