"Now now, we're kind with our words here. This big lug is the nicest useless guard dog ever." He teases, heading straight for his fridge with a sudden idea. Pulling out some bread, meat, and cheese, he throws one thing on top of the other until he has four sandwiches. He throws each one onto its own plate, balancing each with the poise of a practiced, albeit rusty, waiter as he rushes back out to the main room. He sets one by Richie's door, serves one to Melly, and then plops one on the floor in front of Pepper's nose. After copping a few quick bites of his own, he prioritizes again on the job and his armor, slipping the steel plates on and into place as he stands by his one big armchair. It's a risky move, even he realizes, as he takes his rapier and stuffs it down under the one cushion. Hopefully, the honor of a Lizan is as prevalent as the online encyclopedia seemed to imply. Now, ready to move, he makes for the door. "Well, I'll wish you three the best. If Richie comes out and complains about the food, try and drive home to him that I did nothing to it."
