[ digger jolts awake with a yelp when she boops his nose; the sudden movement elicits a low growl from the hyena where he's resting on the man's leg (teeth worryingly close to his junk, one has to admit, but he's already accepted he's at this critter's mercy). but then digger makes himself sit still again. blinks and stares upward, trying to make sense of the view above him: the upside down face, the smear of glitter on her cheek, sweaty from a night of dancing, her hair dangling loose from its messy updo. some of it drifts into his face and he huffs a breath, blowing it away from his mouth. ]

Oh. Y'mean this? [ he fishes the paper out from his pocket, re-examines it. they're both a long way from louisiana, but the old dog is evidently up to his old tricks, if the crimes rattled off on the poster are any indication. ] They didn't capture my good side, I thought. But you're right, I'm in need of, uh, a favour. My last safe house got rumbled. Good henchmen are fucking impossible to find, I swear to god— either Batman puts 'em in the hospital or they betray you for more money, the absolute useless sods—

[ digger abruptly cuts off his tirade, scrubs at his scruffy jowls. ]

So. Nice place you got here. Got an air mattress for a very dear friend? Bestie? [ head still tipped back, he offers her a beaming, shit-eating radiant grin; as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, gold tooth winking at her. ]