@nodamnstogive continued from here.
When he sees people (in general) snooping around his place (well, the more inner-city one -- good location, a little ratty), the first instinct he has is to head down to his armory closet, find something exciting and lay fire to them.
Doubly so, considering this one smells like supe. That’s usually not good news.
Instead, he goes the friendly avenue: charging outside, slamming the door behind him and confronting her. Just a woman who recognizes him that he doesn’t recognize himself, which really is the gut-punch in the pride.
“You should be sorry,” he tells her, not willing to buy the friendliness. He’s stand-offish, angry, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “Emergencies are for EMTs, not me.”
Unfortunately, he is curious enough to bite off the screaming fit of ‘get the fuck out’.
“Fine. What’s the emergency? Couldn’t fucking call?”