[ getting herded around is irritating, but he knows when it's best to bow his head and blend in. The guards are listening in as they speak, now, too, he's sure. Not that it really matters: he doesn't have any important intelligence they could glean from him, unless this really is the work of an incredibly elaborate Stand. ]

A man...?

[ his forehead creases in thought, well-worn wrinkles deepening. ]

No, I don't recall... They had me at gunpoint. Whatever they were saying didn't stick. Something in that slime messed with my head.

[ at least, he's assuming it's the slime. Bucciarati's pulling his pants back on, though he leaves the shirt off, hoping it can get at least a little dryer in the meantime. Their escort service is looking keen to get them back in their cages and out of his hair, and he'd rather not return undressed. ]