[ Terrible clothes is right. It makes him wonder, a bit, about the androids, where they're from, what they mean. If they used to be people, consciousness transferred, or if they're something else. If they had, uh. Real bodies? Before? Otherwise, what's with the clothes?
He glances back at Karen when she speaks. His smile softens, crooked, and he shrugs. Good way to stand out and get shot, too. He doesn't say it. (But maybe that's not a bad idea when he prefers to be the target.)
Anyway. He pushes off the shelf. ] You still owe me a find.
[ Or rather, he's got no intention of cutting whatever they're doing short. Hanging out. Shooting the shit for the next couple of hours. Nothing they gotta pay for here, nobody trying to kill them (yet). It gives him a chance to talk to her. Really talk to her, beyond the quiet waves or the once she brought over a beer. He's usually occupied, is the thing. She's often working her shifts at hours odd from his. Even when they're technically neighbours, they don't see each other much.
But he does think about her. Won't lie about that.
The next cabin door won't budge. Logan frowns, gives it a sharp shove with his shoulder. The slumped-over androids blocking the way push loose. Gingerly, he steps over the pile of three. He sniffs an empty flask on the table, picks up somebody's binder of spreadsheets. Just a lotta numbers that mean nothing. ] We're gonna see what Mr. Accountant here likes to wear?
no subject
He glances back at Karen when she speaks. His smile softens, crooked, and he shrugs. Good way to stand out and get shot, too. He doesn't say it. (But maybe that's not a bad idea when he prefers to be the target.)
Anyway. He pushes off the shelf. ] You still owe me a find.
[ Or rather, he's got no intention of cutting whatever they're doing short. Hanging out. Shooting the shit for the next couple of hours. Nothing they gotta pay for here, nobody trying to kill them (yet). It gives him a chance to talk to her. Really talk to her, beyond the quiet waves or the once she brought over a beer. He's usually occupied, is the thing. She's often working her shifts at hours odd from his. Even when they're technically neighbours, they don't see each other much.
But he does think about her. Won't lie about that.
The next cabin door won't budge. Logan frowns, gives it a sharp shove with his shoulder. The slumped-over androids blocking the way push loose. Gingerly, he steps over the pile of three. He sniffs an empty flask on the table, picks up somebody's binder of spreadsheets. Just a lotta numbers that mean nothing. ] We're gonna see what Mr. Accountant here likes to wear?