[ If Enjolras' petulant face is any indication, the man's answer is far from satisfactory, but he does as he's been non-verbally asked...to a point. Enjolras reluctantly holds out one of his scraped hands out for inspection, the other kept stubbornly behind him as if keeping it concealed maintained some sort of noble resistance to...well, whatever the hell this was. ]

That still doesn't explain anything, you know that right? What, you went around killing people on behalf of some fat oligarchs for a living then decided today that it just wasn't for you? Come off it.