[ With a smile--no offense taken, people who meet him assume he owns a bicycle and shops organic, and they're not even wrong: ] I'm not squeamish, no.

[ At least without Communion to fuck things up for him, Matt's better at keeping his thoughts to himself. Helpful for when both Silco and Quetzalcoatl come up, especially when he knows the subject's coming because he pursued it himself. Still, Matt will never be anything other than transparent: He can't help a small frown, a slight tensing of his shoulders. ]

More of an acolyte by circumstance, then, not like a--specific pledge. [ A quick shake of his head to clear it. And, after a moment, another smile. ] I hadn't even thought about fight clubs. That's definitely not my flavor. [ Hilariously, Ryad and its people-eaters might be, if past is any prelude. He chooses not to linger on that, lest the conflict play out on his face. ] Not that I don't understand the appeal of getting the blood pumping, even vicariously.