He took a drag and stuffed the cigs he'd been offering her into his coat pocket. "Cigars?" he questioned with a little smile "May as well smoke it if it lights." he'd always had the cheapest cigarettes. He and Murphy were illegal immigrants from Ireland that worked in a meat shop and then became vigilante serial killers, splayed all across the news in Boston and beyond. He wondered when someone would recognize them for who they were and what they'd think of them. Population seemed to mostly agree with their work, but some people didn't like their brand of justice. How could they tell them that it was in their blood? Literally. Without ever meeting their da once or knowing what he did in his youth they'd picked up his vigilante mission and followed in his footsteps. It was a decree from God that made them do it.
Can't argue with the big man up above and their life was one big piece of evidence that he not only existed, but that he sent them on their mission. It wasn't always easy, it wasn't always nice. But they did it.
Talking about Murphy always made him happy but he screwed up his face like he was about to talk shit, and he was. "Murph's still in one piece if that's what yer askin'. Picked up some kinda extra shift or somethin'. I suspect it had a t'ing or two to do with a person of the female variety." and he chuckled. He would never get over making fun of Murphy and his interest in the women. Connor was also interested in women but maybe not so voraciously. He was mostly interested in getting drunk and killing shit that deserved it. And keeping Murphy safe. But he didn't go around saying that.
He had kept the lighter out and turned it over in his hand absently as he spoke. He noticed barely that she was watching it and didn't seem to shocked when she asked to see it. "This old thing?" he asked and dangled it before her "Came from a gas station, that did." he let her take it easily, he had no special attachment to it and he had plenty of lighters back at the prison. "Yer not one o'those fire starters, are ye?"