Lucky (maybe?) for her, it seems she's ended up with someone who isn't all that judgemental of Pandoran customs. Maybe because half his crew back home would fit right into that dumpster fire of a planet, but who's keeping count.

As usual, Squalo's dressed in black, his long white hair looking almost a little otherworldly, though the localization features are probably the thing that draws attention the most: a pair of pale, slim horns and a set of sharky sharp teeth that keep peeking out whenever he speaks or smirks.

"You can choose your favorite," he suggests conversationally, as if they're speaking about what to order for lunch. He's tipped his chair on two legs, lounging like he owns the place, hands behind head. The burly demons next to them is probably the only reason his feet aren't on the table yet. "Generally, everything counts as long as it's either illegal or you feel bad about it."

There's something a little deja vu about this girl... as if he's met her, or some echo of her, during torture before, and then never again. But it's too blurry in his mind to properly make out. Still, it makes him curious to hear more about her.

Or her sins, whichever. That was totally a good first conversation topic.