"Your type for what, Nathan?" Barty asked him innocently, simply because he felt there was a certain beauty in watching someone dig their own grave. If they were immortal and hugely annoying, there was even some poetry to it all. He didn't bother sparing even a glance in Nathan's reaction as he kept walking, secure in the knowledge that he'd follow him. And very certain that he would talk - and talk himself into trouble - even without him forcing him to do so.

The phone was calling, but so far Simon had not picked up yet.