The Don reeks of too much perfume and he’s wearing the same suit I saw him in right before we ran him out of Midgar. It’s pretty fucking disgusting, actually, but at least this time he doesn’t smell like he just pissed himself. He’s a walking, talking, sliming reminder of everything I hate downplate.
I wish I could have dropped the pizza on him. If I had we wouldn’t be here now, me and Rude, playing nice with fucking Avalanche and tracking his little slug trails. We’d better get this over with. Elena’s waiting. I don’t want to be late.
