Hatchet turned and faced the metal clad woman. His distinctively mesmerizing, multi-colored eyes scrutinized every nick-knack dangling from her person. He didn't waste time in offering Ethan any source of assistance. Drunks usually
did deal with their own problems; aside from having the intelligence to quit drinking. Hatchet couldn't hold his liquor, so it didn't pertain to him, anyway. Hatchet carried his shot over to the table, and plopped himself in a chair. He crossed his arms and legs, as to sit with a prominent stature; his black nailed finger tips graced just the rim of the shot glass.
Hatchet only acknowledged Ari when she contradicted his notion of feelings actually holding any meaning. "Feelings are what drive a mortal being to exceed the implausible. That's a bit dramatic, but that's what I've heard." Hatchet surveyed the oxymoron, which the woman produced when she offered her hand to the young man; he stared curiously at woman. He thought it was interesting; his past didn't necessarily dictate any appreciation for another being. "You show politeness to this disturbed young man, to make him
feel appreciated do you not?" Hatchet smiled on the inside, as he tilted his head in question. "Why this very
song produces that same feeling." Hatchet sneered at Ari. "My point being... Feelings
are relevant, because they can be
manipulated." A wry grin graced Hatchet's white lips.