[ If there was one thing Hank Anderson excelled at, it was stamping everything down at a surface level. Would have made for a shit detective with a short career if he couldn't keep a straight face. Unfortunately, it had strip-mined his capacity for small talk. Hank sometimes wondered if that made these frequent chats off-putting at all. Given how he showed up, said little and then little with little fanfare or regard for pleasantries.

Or it just made him look weird. ]

Eh, guess this really wouldn't be a career choice for burgeoning hoarders.

[ Hank shrugged to play off the shudder at knowing every word he just said was the most dumbass thing to say in this situation. ]

Water'd be great. [ He said, taking a seat before he could express his astonishment priests even drank tea. Meaning maybe he could salvage this meeting. He thought, while awkwardly patting his hands on his knees. ]

Y'know, call me a neonate but anytime I come in here I feel I outta confess or something.

[ Or not. Fuck. ]