His cold, green eyes widened as the realization dawned on him that Yuna had no idea who her walking partner this morning was. His first instinct was to simply shout to her and tell her who the man was, but he thought the better of it figuring that he might be able to use her ignorant connection to the man at a later, more fitting date. He released the grip on his weapon, instead pulling out a stray paintbrush that he kept in his back pocket and began twirling it lightly in his fingers, as if this was what he were trying to do all along.
He knew it would fool no one, but he could try to diffuse the situation by acting more the fool than most would realize. And he would never tear a relationship apart unless it was for the greater good, and right now it would serve no good whatsoever.
"Yes of course we're not in the ghetto, I see no niggers running around waving guns held the wrong way and trying to rob us because they're too big of piles of shit to get a job.", he replied back without missing a beat, not even so much as batting an eye at his foul language.
"And of course you are correct, it is none of my business, but my business is keeping an eye out for my friends and allies, and taking the fight to those who would harm them.", as he said the last, his cold eyes turned back to Jeremy, almost promising to meet again in a more fitting setting.
His attention was grabbed by a sound behind him, and his cocaine amped reflexes and natural hostility led him to instinctively spin, drawing his gun as he did and pointing it dead at the man he didn't recognize putting hands on Abi. The now dropped paintbrush landed on the ground with a hollow thunk as the sound of clinking chains and jewelry jangled around him.
Vincent pulled back the hammer of his shining, beloved USP and suddenly, the fire that had initially been burning within his eyes when he collided with Abi was sprang back to life. His heart roared in his ears as he sighted in this unknown player that had decided to jump into the game.
"You have one breath to let her go or you are getting two in the chest and one in the head, Friend." he said in a protective voice that held a profoundly cold edge to it, "You Hounds can have this shithole you call your territory, but let my Depictioner go or they won't find even a hair to prove your existence."