[There's so much he wants, needs, to say. Wants to tell her that there are no daemons roaming the streets when the sun goes down, no empire beating down the wall. That the wall here is their prison and the cliffs surround them are too high even for his own comfort to scale.
Instead he gives her a tour. Shows her the local places she's probably already aware of (who knows how long she's been in the streets): where he works, the tea shop where Cassian works (it's Too Fancy but their coffee makes even the decor worth it), the grocery. Points each building out in a casual air with all the precision of a soldier who has paced these streets more times than he'd care to count, memorizing exits and who frequents what when.
He's talking too much, even for him. Filling the silence with idle chatter that means nothing. That he knows she can tell means nothing. He talks like he's lived here for years, drawing on the out of place snippets in his memory for details like his life depends on it. He couldn't say for sure yet whether it doesn't.
But eventually it's clear he's deliberately making his way out of town, towards the farm and hopefully beyond where there are fewer cameras. Where he can report properly without showing off that he's breaking all the laws. He can play their game, but Crowe wouldn't, not without having a damn good reason, he thinks. This isn't Insomnia. They have no purpose here.]
no subject
[There's so much he wants, needs, to say. Wants to tell her that there are no daemons roaming the streets when the sun goes down, no empire beating down the wall. That the wall here is their prison and the cliffs surround them are too high even for his own comfort to scale.
Instead he gives her a tour. Shows her the local places she's probably already aware of (who knows how long she's been in the streets): where he works, the tea shop where Cassian works (it's Too Fancy but their coffee makes even the decor worth it), the grocery. Points each building out in a casual air with all the precision of a soldier who has paced these streets more times than he'd care to count, memorizing exits and who frequents what when.
He's talking too much, even for him. Filling the silence with idle chatter that means nothing. That he knows she can tell means nothing. He talks like he's lived here for years, drawing on the out of place snippets in his memory for details like his life depends on it. He couldn't say for sure yet whether it doesn't.
But eventually it's clear he's deliberately making his way out of town, towards the farm and hopefully beyond where there are fewer cameras. Where he can report properly without showing off that he's breaking all the laws. He can play their game, but Crowe wouldn't, not without having a damn good reason, he thinks. This isn't Insomnia. They have no purpose here.]