"Oi, shove off y'bastard." It earns Nate an easy elbow toward the rips as they move. Beyond that Charlie makes no real move to shrug him off for maybe three, four paces before he catches his hand against Nate's ribs - shoves him away with a snort and a sidelong glance and the edge of a smile, quick and fleeting and sliding quickly from his face.

"So, what's the setup then? Find a gig to work yet?"