"Your condolences? You couldn't have chosen any other word?" Marco grumbled, more to himself than Juno. He nodded to Juliet and held out his hand so she could drop the ice cube into it, and he held it in the same spot he had had the other one. "Thanks," he added.
He looked down at his jacket, keeping his free hand in a pocket and flapping it open and shut idly. He only wore the tank top they'd provided under it, which was slightly better than his tee shirt, but he still wasn't sure he could pass it off as okay. "I'm from LA," he told her. "I lived on the street in LA. I mean, it's hot in here, but I'm not dying. I like my jacket. Makes me feel comfortable." He shrugged. "I don't remember where you're from," he told Juno. Then, to Juliet, "Where are you from? Everyone here is kind of from all over the place. There's even an old dude, from England. Archibald-- No, that's not it. Ferdinand."