Roman stops giggling, if only because the woman's said something he finds a spike of interest in. He still looks like he's not taking anything seriously, which--well, par for the course with him--but he cants his head to the side just for a second.

Alright. This is a tough girl. A badass bitch. Whatever it is, Roman can calibrate accordingly. This is just a negotiation.

"You're probably right. I'm in five gallons of bullshit I don't want to deal with, a brother who's on ice so thin he's going to fall under any five minutes, and my track record with this warden thing? Not so great. So that leaves us--where, exactly?" He raises a brow. "Enduring each other for a month, however will we cope, or, like I've been saying, we could just have a fucking drink. You hate my guts, don't wanna spill yours, that's fine. You can leave after the last swig and I'll just hover around until my shitty little warden item tells me you died or some shit, but I'd like to--" he rolls his eyes for this. He hates admitting vulnerability. "Try. Deal?"