Iceman chuckled again as the Canadian taked about 'hair that makes supermodels jealous' and 'ugly ass mug' faces. He listened to the larger male talk about smuggling liquor (awesome. Totally. Fucking. Awesome. Lorna would've probably been Women's Christian Temperance Union back then...)
The yuppie took a look at the tracker around Victor's ankle - no way the asshole would've worn that voluntarily for so long... he thought. That made him feel even better.
"I'm glad you're not that person either. I met that person - son of a bitch treated me like shit. And you don't smell like stale roadkill..." he added. Sure, evil-Vic wasn't that stinky but frankly the brute's assholeness made the bastard worthy of the exaggeration.
He lifted another ball of dairy-sugar-cocoa-whiskey-creamy-lusciousness to his maw and consumed it with the savagery Victor would probably save for a slice of Alaskan salmon. The crunch of chocolate chips echoed throughout the kitchen. "You really should check out the spa I go to in the city. They'd be drooling over your hair. You're like Thor but bigger," he added. He then began to unscrew his flask; after flipping the cap off he took a long swig. "Just don't ask for a manicure. Unless you wanna change the color," he said with a snarky grin.