"Friends," Ipsen muttered, amused. "Well Lowen ain't go no friends, missy. Every time he starts to get chummy with someone they always end up backstabbing'em somehow. Even if they don't, they will! I can see it in their eyes! No, I'll cut those loose ends before he lets things get carried away."
The way the man spoke was gruff, rude, and borderline paranoid. He shook his head furiously and looked on Hana once more. "And you ain't gonna tell him nothin' bout me neither!" he barked.
He eased a bit, cooling off.
"Sorry," he said, mustering an actual apology. "I tend to talk without thinking almost always. But the truth is, I have no idea why I am here right now. I know why I exist, but in this very moment, no idea. Ol' Lowen only retreats to his corner when the times get tough - that's when I come in. I do the dirty work. Or maybe something in this house triggered the poor bastard's memory. Sure, I can take over when I want to but I really didn't want to this time. Hell, maybe I did. Maybe I was just dyin' to meet ya."
"Does that answer your question?" he asked with an impatient huff. "Or are you looking for a history lesson?"