There's something in Jason's hand, half-stuffed into his pocket, that seems to twitch or flinch with every clink of the bottle, as if it's struggling to remain of this time and place instead of being flung into the past, or into a fist.

"And if you were one of mine, I'd have your tongue ripped out for that kind of talk." His nostrils flare slightly, something inside him withering at knowing he has so little recourse against a Tribute that isn't his. Were his temper on a little slacker a leash he may have backhanded Jack already.

"It doesn't matter. I just think it's a shame when good Escorts get bad Tributes. A damn shame, I say." He gestures with his cigarette at the Avox. "Don't help them. It scares them when you pretend they're people, and for good reason."