Brushing the little bit of splattered soup off of her exposed shoulder, Sienna's annoyed expression rapidly began to cool off and fade. Her eyes raised to the black-haired woman when she heard the apology, and shrugged in response with an accusatory nod and upturned-and-open-palm held out towards the vagrant, making it clear she knew who had caused the mess, and that an apology wasn't necessary. Another uniformed employee scurried over to their tables and, almost pathetically apologetic, handed Oreza a couple of thick towels just before dropping to his hands and knees to mop up the mess on the floor with another.
The drifter threw his hands up in front of him in surrender as the first worker directed him out of the restaurant. "Hey now, sorry'bout all this," he apologized in a non-confrontational, calm tone. "Ain'no need't'push, I got it. I don' wanno trouble." He didn't make much of a visible effort to leave, however, at least not before Oreza subtly threatened him. For some reason, he took it from the big Nepleslian much differently than he took it from the short man in the funny noodle vendor's uniform. The conflict-averse tone and air about him was gone in an instant as he turned to face the source of the voice, glaring at Oreza and Sienna's table. "Wha?" he snapped, as if he were a completely different person yet again. "Whatchu gonna do about it, big guy? This ain'yer house, I got jus'a'much a right to eat here as you."
"You aren't eating here," the employee spoke up. "And you're bothering the other customers, and look at this mess you've made. This is my house, and I'm telling you to get out."
The drifter glowered for a second, but then all of a sudden turned bright and jovial again, staring at Oreza with a creepy smile that seemed to contradict everything that the man should be feeling at that moment. "Right, then," he said out of nowhere, perhaps in response to the employee's second demand that he leave, or perhaps for no conceivable reason at all. It was getting quite difficult to discern what the man might be thinking or feeling at any given moment, his attitude and speech were so inconsistent. The worker (perhaps he was the manager, given the authoritative approach he was taking) stood his ground, pointing out into the concourse in silent demand that the vagrant obey him at once. The drifter's eyelid twitched slightly as his head tilted and rolled to the side, facing Amelia, as if not entirely by his own will, still with that unsettling grin on his face. "Time t'go home, then, baby. Let's go on home, see?"
The man then moved the knapsack in front of him, and with his one fingerless-gloved hand, reached inside as he started to walk, not out of the restaurant, but directly towards Amelia.
