Five can't help but wince and clench his jaw when Luther fumbles and says that name. Allison. Unfortunately, a life alone hasn't trained him in the fine arts of interpersonal skills. Handling delicate emotions isn't the same skill-set as handling a rifle, and killers make for bad counselors.
He looks between the two, obviously considering whether or not he should follow along. Sit tight and wait to be given orders, go through more rounds of questioning? Now, there's some appeal in keeping an eye on these two—this entire place is a list of unknown factors, a whole number of possible dangers that they'll likely have to approach together for however long they're stuck in this place.
(Trapped, again. A castaway out of time and space.)
"You two should get back and have a good talk," he says, seeming to agree save for one omission. "At the very least, get off the streets so these locals won't gossip."
Five looks up and down the busy street, noting the number of people who cast their curious glances to this small band of adolescents (there's no place to even be smug about it, to say, well now you know how I've felt). He notes the weight of the folders and information that were passed to him; housing details, work assignments, an education. Ridiculous at the outset, but not worthless as covers go. And money, well—it doesn't grow on trees.
"I've got a few things I'd like to check on," he gives as an explanation, sensing or expecting a possible argument. "Seeing as I'm new and all, I imagine it's poor form not to get a little more acquainted with one's immediate surroundings."
no subject
He looks between the two, obviously considering whether or not he should follow along. Sit tight and wait to be given orders, go through more rounds of questioning? Now, there's some appeal in keeping an eye on these two—this entire place is a list of unknown factors, a whole number of possible dangers that they'll likely have to approach together for however long they're stuck in this place.
(Trapped, again. A castaway out of time and space.)
"You two should get back and have a good talk," he says, seeming to agree save for one omission. "At the very least, get off the streets so these locals won't gossip."
Five looks up and down the busy street, noting the number of people who cast their curious glances to this small band of adolescents (there's no place to even be smug about it, to say, well now you know how I've felt). He notes the weight of the folders and information that were passed to him; housing details, work assignments, an education. Ridiculous at the outset, but not worthless as covers go. And money, well—it doesn't grow on trees.
"I've got a few things I'd like to check on," he gives as an explanation, sensing or expecting a possible argument. "Seeing as I'm new and all, I imagine it's poor form not to get a little more acquainted with one's immediate surroundings."