Louis moved quickly, though his thoughts and his words moved even quicker. He steps further into the room, his wide-eyed, unblinking gaze sweeping over his surroundings like headlights, or maybe a child's curiosity. Walt may notice the index finger of Lou's left hand is in a splint.

"I came here for your ideas, Walt, not your refreshments." He didn't say so unkindly, but it was nonetheless straight-forward; almost cheerful, even, like the warmth you saw when the horizon was a sliver of liquid fire, but you were still standing in the cold. If what Louis heard didn't sound promising, he was going to want to turn and walk back out of the door.

"Is this where you're comfortable talking?"