Well that's softly sweet, a sensation that Kabal can't process because no one has ever been soft, nor sweet, to him in his entire life. There's a half smirk on his face as he pulls the mask back on; finally he understands and doesn't feel like he's drunkenly trying to swim a river littered with alligators in the form of Len's verbal snares.

"Hm, think I can do that." As if he's not undressing Len with his eyes everytime he glances at him.

One of those shrimp obsessed douchebags comes in and Kabal grabs them by the back of the shirt, tossing them easily right into the shrimp platter they desperately wanted. Shellfish and cocktail sauce go everywhere as the table collapses, though by some miracle none on Kabal's fancy white outfit.

Without missing a beat he winds an arm around Len's waist to lead them somewhere with less appetizer obsessed idiots, "Want me to prove it?"