"You really, really don't," Tig says, scrunching his nose up and shaking his head. He can hear the Prospect on the other side of the door. Good. Maybe Chucky won't get to traumatizing any customers today. Tig would rather not end up with his head mounted on Gemma's mantle because the prospect couldn't keep Fappy contained.

...Trig, though? Really? He straightens up from leaning on the door. "Y'know... close enough," He decides. Trig, Tig, whatever. She's new. He wanders away from the door now that the Chucky Threat Level has lowered and half sits, half leans against one of the desks. The Oldsmobile will wait for a minute. "Settling in alright?"