Fischer does know how to handle the device, so at least there's that, and worth noting for future reference. Not bad for a fat, street-busking ne'er-do-well. Johannes isn't certain he'd be able to do the same successfully. He peers at the screen: yes, that's certainly him, and clearly meant to be Horst, although it looks considerably more like Varney the Vampire.
This is the politest he's ever considered being to Fischer. It's not malice, per se; it simply hadn't occurred to him that Fischer of all people might be of any use to him. Maybe on another day, or with another man, that would be cause for self-examination, but--Johannes wrinkles his rosy nose at the obscener graffiti and looks back at himself and Horst. It could be worse, anyway. It could be considerably, substantially worse.
The skunk-striped man catches his eye. This could be incriminating, but it's worth the risk: "Let me see Mr. Blood, please," he says. "I think that's him. Thank you." Johannes mouths silently to himself: shit, again, but there's no camera to see it. Jason Blood. Of course. Is he dead too? And this ridiculous tramp, like everyone else, ambling around merrily with no idea?
"I see," he says after a moment. "Thank you." He disguises the telltale overbrightness in his voice with a cough into his sleeve.
[voice] [unlocked]
Fischer does know how to handle the device, so at least there's that, and worth noting for future reference. Not bad for a fat, street-busking ne'er-do-well. Johannes isn't certain he'd be able to do the same successfully. He peers at the screen: yes, that's certainly him, and clearly meant to be Horst, although it looks considerably more like Varney the Vampire.
This is the politest he's ever considered being to Fischer. It's not malice, per se; it simply hadn't occurred to him that Fischer of all people might be of any use to him. Maybe on another day, or with another man, that would be cause for self-examination, but--Johannes wrinkles his rosy nose at the obscener graffiti and looks back at himself and Horst. It could be worse, anyway. It could be considerably, substantially worse.
The skunk-striped man catches his eye. This could be incriminating, but it's worth the risk: "Let me see Mr. Blood, please," he says. "I think that's him. Thank you." Johannes mouths silently to himself: shit, again, but there's no camera to see it. Jason Blood. Of course. Is he dead too? And this ridiculous tramp, like everyone else, ambling around merrily with no idea?
"I see," he says after a moment. "Thank you." He disguises the telltale overbrightness in his voice with a cough into his sleeve.