[ His eyebrows quirked at Bradbury, questioning Nelson's actions more than his question. He didn't hear anything wrong, so he wasn't about to go charging into the kitchen like a hyper-perceptive human being. No need to leave anyone with questions about why Maskin seemed just a bit too much like he could hear something others couldn't.

He'd gotten damn good at faking that. ]

Just yell if you need some help. [ He raised his voice for Nelson's benefit, before leaning against the small table with the liquor, finally setting his glass down, and crossing his arms. What the hell kind of a question had he been asked before Nelson interjected? He felt on the spotlight, like Bradbury was hunting for something. Even if he didn't realize what it was.

It left him cautious. ]

Because we don't know anything about you guys, that's why. If we understood imports, maybe this wouldn't have happened. [ He paused, still holding his hands where they were. It was a Maskin pose, something he'd taken on as a part of his old identity, where Mitchell Hundred may have gestured wildly, Maskin was reserved. ]

I don't know about you, but gross breaches of civil rights aren't something I can stand by and let happen, even if it doesn't effect me.