It had been a simple request. Or really, a demand. After he'd figured out how to work that weird phone the second he got dumped at his "accommodations", he managed to figure out how to send a message to one of the familiar names among the many unfamiliar. It had been there twice, actually — he'll try the other one later... depending on how this goes.
Wolfwood still doesn't really know what's going on.
So he had practically demanded to see the guy, and now he's outside, and it's a lot quieter here than it was where he had been before, but he can still hear the sounds of a city. And he really, really wishes he had a cigarette right now. His mouth itches for something to keep it busy, and his skin is crawling.
"You—"
He sees his face and it's... well, he's still blonde, but the hairstyle isn't right. He's got those huge blue eyes still, that mole, those stupid glasses, but he's also... a lot shorter than Wolfwood remembers.
"Ya gotta be kiddin' me." Wolfwood's jaw tenses, his nostrils flaring. One more thing to add to the headache. He doesn't even give a "hello", he just walks right up, hands in his pockets, and leans down to eye-level, personal space be damned. "Is that really you, Spikey?"
@blankticket who is this man
