[Someday, when she's at a higher level, Schlingel will have more power and appreciation for the fine nuances of the human brain; as it is, her training is still in the rudimentary stages, and Schuldig's spent more time focusing on don't you DARE let them find out what you're doing you little scheissekopf than on some of the subtler techniques of telepathy. She's doing her best here, but what she gets comes in flashes — the brief flavor of machismo, a touch of acceptance combined with the recognition that appears on the guy's face.

She's still pretty worthless, but she's trying, and it's a little more than Schuldig knew before. Luckily, this guy seems like the type who doesn't guard his thoughts very well; maybe if he's distracted, he'll project a little more, and Schlingel can dig a little deeper without risking notice.

Worth a shot, he decides.]

Know him? Son of a bitch stole my look.

[He answers with overplayed arrogance, making a show of flipping out his mane of hair as if for emphasis.]

Somebody said I oughta sue him for that, but I figure if I ever meet the guy I'll just pop him one in the mouth and call it even.

[And he watches carefully, disguised behind a disarming grin, to see what this stranger does about that.]