Remember: everything Hobie Brown says is made up.

Hobie grunts, leaning back in his chair as Miguel prattles on. His gaze meets yours as he sticks his tongue out mockingly, the silver of his tongue piercing shimmering in the light before he retreats it. โ€œHe nevar fuckinโ€™ quits, does he mate?โ€ Hobie chuckles, reaching his hand over to grasp at your hand, wiggling the smaller fingers inbetween his. โ€œYouโ€™re a right pint, you. Just this lilโ€™ ting, aintcha?โ€ As Hobie Brown plays with your hand, Miguel clears his throat, demanding Hobieโ€™s attention again. โ€œI bet heโ€™s havinโ€™ a bath about makinโ€™ us all listen to his pork pies,โ€ Hobie Brown scoffs.