Locus lets his eyes move over the man. Talking isn't strictly necessary. Tipping his head, moving his gaze slowly along the length of the young man, even just fixing him with a stare? Is usually enough. There's a certain type that approaches him, and he knows how to work with them.

When he does speak, the words are soft. Close. Close enough for the rumble of his voice to rival the bass of the club in the young man's ear.