[ Pushing up the sleeves on his coat, almost idly, like he's not paying attention. Red eyes push under the skin, opening like a seam and then closing again. ]

I-- We don't care much for each other. 'Course, his opinion counts a lot less, being a dead guy. But I know he hated me. Ran into a woman once, who knew him, thought she knew I was him by the face - familiar and all. Called him charismatic in his cruelty. So, I think maybe the world is a better place without him in it. I try and do better. Leave things letter behind me. Make something whole out of the pieces, if I can.