What if, instead, he didn't ignore the person with the metal arm and, though a few feet away for comfort of stranger sake, stood directly in front of them for just a few moments. Clad in black pants and a red hoodie up over his hair, Shoto has been watching from the sanctity of his own clean up not so far away. He's gauging what exactly he should do here, or if anything, because he's known enough people and been enough places to know that not everyone wants help. The hero somewhere in him tells him he needs to and instead he should help until he's asked not to.

Most of the pieces aren't huge, which is great, but even he can use the hand. Like flesh hand not metal hand. "Can I trouble you to help me with this piece?" Favours or not, Shoto isn't interested in the drinks, dinners or other offers either. He just wants to do his job and go to whatever this place thinks should be home at the end of the day. If that means doubling up, at least he can use that excuse if things get iffy.