Drake had never been the best at introductions. In many ways, his genuine side was constantly suppressed by a sense of arrogant self-reflection, constantly reaffirming himself over his surroundings. In this case, his inherent cockiness reinstated itself before his initial surprise at Sawyer's survival, instead fixating itself on the meager state of his body... And Drake meant it in the most pleasant manner possible. "[b]Vieux Carré, on the rocks.[/b]" Drake said to Sykes, his eyes never leaving Sawyer as he took his position at the other end of the table. Hell, if he dressed fancy for this, he might as well act the part, he rationalized. But as soon as Sykes departed the room, he dropped the facade of culture. "[b]Sawyer man, what the hell happened to you bro!"[/b] he exclaimed loudly, banging his prosthetic hand on the table in jubilance "[b]You look like shit right now... Even more so than usual! I thought you shot yourself?[/b]" He seemed largely oblivious to the empty stare which Sawyer returned him with, as well as the residual anger that simmered behind the empty blue irises.