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Finn was in. He was in bed, actually, sitting up and leaning against the wall, though still beneath the blankets on his bed, an xbox one controller in hand as he stared ahead at the television screen across the room, which was at that moment filled with explosions and gun fire as his thumbs tapped rapidly along the controls.

The knock on the door had him hitting pause, the controller tossed to the foot of the bed a split second before he rolled out of it, landing in a crouch on the floor, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but of course, not giving a s**t about it as he walked to the door and pulled it open to see whoever was on the other side, his hair tousled, and his eye patch no where in sight, as he apparently hadn't gotten around to putting it on yet, leaving every scar on his body completely exposed.

The person on the other side was unexpected, so he raised an eyebrow at her , but smirked nevertheless, as he held on to his door with one hand and the door frame with the other, leaning forward towards her rather than inviting her in. "Good morning, darling. What can I do for you?"

The island was hot. There was a very good chance that Claude would see Finn in some state of undress many, many times. Clothes were overrated, anyways. Even fabulously expensive clothes that fit him like a god damn glove and made him look ********.

He knew she was looking at the right side of his face, the scars, the empty eye socket, and yet....he was quite a bit less bothered by it now then he might have been only a few months ago. He'd come to terms with the injury, with how it made him look, and while he still wore his eye patch 100% of the time that he was out of his room, he had taken to leaving it off more and more when he was not.

He did, however, appreciate when her scrutiny came to an end and she was able to look him in the eye again.

He heard her out, eye brows raising slightly as if he didn't quite believe what she was saying. And he didn't, really. They hadn't exactly gotten off on the right foot from the moment she had woken up from her pod, and had barely spoken to each other since their last spar. The fact that she was here at all was more then just a little bit suspicious.

"If it's not a bottle of whiskey...or even rum, for that matter." Because look at her. Of course it would be rum if it was anything alcoholic at all. " Or, even a booty call." He grinned, coldly, before continuing. "Then I'm not interested."

Whatever it was, if it wasn't alcohol, had better be damn good.

When she pulled the gift out from behind her back, he stared, blinked, thought about slamming the door in her face and going back to his video game (and yes, even made a small movement as if to do just that) and then just stood and stared a little bit more.

Finally, an eyebrow rose.

"Soooooo.....if I stand on that and drop my boxers, do I get a blow job? Is that my gift?"

Again the thought to turn and walk away did occur to him, but as the step stool was sat down between them, his gaze followed the eye burningly pink monstrosity to the ground. Ignoring the gift would probably only serve to amuse her more then accepting it, so finally he straightened from his leaned forward position in the doorway, let out a long, suffering, over dramatic sigh, and with bare feet stepped forward and onto the step stool.

Now raised a few inches off of the ground, he looked (barely) down on her.

"Ah yes, now I totally see the appeal of the height advantage. Such power over the lower beings, now coursing through my veins." He mocked, arms going to cross over his scarred chest.

"You're absolutely sure there's no blow job in this for me?"

He at least sounded more amused then he looked.

A cold smile was directed down at her, and for one brief moment, Finn did actually understand the appeal of being able to hover over everyone else.

But it was short lived, and soon he was stepping back down before reaching out a foot to hook the stool and shove it behind himself back into his room.

"Probably fortunate for me. You look like a biter." He continued to stand in the doorway a moment longer, before his head cocked just slightly to the side and his arms uncrossed.

"Would you like to come in for a drink?"

Might as well offer, right?

Finn smiled, cold, but when was it not? He backed away from the door, shoving the stool to the side as he did so, and left the door open for her to follow him in as he turned around and went for his dresser, his first order of business to find some clothing.

He let out a soft snort at her question as drawers were slid open, articles of clothing removed, and drawers shut again. At some point, a cigarette found it's way between his lips as he began to pull his clothes on in quick movements.

"Of course I do." He mumbled from around his cigarette. "Only whiskey, though. Hope that's not a problem."

Something in his tone said too ******** bad if it is.

Finns room was clean, neat and organized, with the faint hint of a bleach smell to indicate that he had at least washed it recently (though he pretty much did this daily if possible). Still, even despite that there was a definite scent of cigarettes in the air, which he likely did not even notice himself. The apartment was huge in comparison to the trainee dorms, if still only one room with an adjoining bathroom. On the right was his bed, pushed up against two walls. At the foot of that, against the third wall, a t.v. stand with a television set and three different gaming systems (two of those had been gifts). Along the left wall, the kitchenette that provided him with a means of cooking his own food if he so desired, though he had yet to actually use any of it save for the fridge which, if opened, one would find stocked with nothing more then a six pack of beer and several bottles of water.

There was at least a small table with two chairs somewhere between the "bedroom" and "kitchen" which was, apparently, the designated dining area. It was that which he moved towards once fully clothed and, yes, eye patched as well, but not before selecting a bottle of whiskey from one of the top most cupboards in his small kitchen, and procuring two glasses.

"Sit." He indicated, while taking another long drag from his cigarette, and setting the glasses and bottle of whiskey down. "And tell me, what's new with you?"

Not that he was really all that interested, but conversation (and maybe just a tiny bit interested).

Pouring her glass, he slid it her way before ashing his cigarette in a tray on the table and pouring one for himself.