[Slevin can't stop himself from swallowing, throat constricting under Cassel's palm, but he takes a deeper inhale and keeps it jealously, hoards it as precious as it is, just in case.

Cassel jerks his head around and Slevin hisses like a viper, neck protesting, eyes narrowing and focused where they land, pulled away from Chris.]

I'm not sure this is the role I auditioned for. I want to speak to the director.

[He has to swallow blood again at that point, jarred into facing Chris, and now the anger sharpens and darkens. He sees who he saw when he heard the announcement, a soft, spineless creature so privileged he isn't even aware of the privilege, so high above the crimes his family commits that he can claim to be blind to them. The distillation of everything Slevin has hated his entire life, responsible for him now, with authority over him now.

He'd begun to be lulled by it, by following the rules set out for him. Now he remembers that he recognizes no authority but his own, and though the words send an involuntary shudder through him, Slevin knows how this goes. Chris is easy to rile.

It'll hurt more, but it'll leave him less capable of digging for the parts of Slevin that will really hurt him, if he's angry. The assassin's lip curls, dried blood flaking, his voice full of contempt.]

If I'd known it was that kind of show, I would've dressed appropriately.

Let's see it, Capone Jr. Let's see what Daddy should be so proud of having handed to you on a silver platter.