DOSH

"Ahah.. It's a bit of a silly reason, really." He hesitated, tugging at his gloves to give him a moment to think about his choice of wording. "I'm one to keep my identity hidden, and I guess where I come from it's pretty important that I do." He looked up from his gloves, and shook his head. "Not just that though, and laugh if you want, but, I'm terribly phobic of germs. Getting sick is something that just.. euugh. It's not something I enjoy thinking about." He shuddered, the sheer thought of it sent a wave of nausea running through him for a few moments. 

Psychopaths, chimes his mind helpfully, to which his eyebrows knit in visible response; his paranoia can prove to be useful at times but unsolicited on any other day, and it’s not as if he’s hardly used to dealing with killers. He can handle one or two oddballs who claim zombie apocalypses and widespread epidemics any time.

“You could start by helping me with directions," is his reply, once he catches up. A hand passes down the front of his suit to check for wayward creases out of habit. "I’ve been having…trouble. With finding a place to stay.”

Realizing that such a question would only ask for an answer such as “oh, there’s a couple of hotels you could try”, Jean quickly adds— “An apartment that isn’t too shabby I could rent, that is." 

"Hmm, a nice flat, eh?" 

He tapped his finger against the side of his mask in thought. Mr. Foster had been 'living' here for a few months, and while he didn't know from experience how good some of these places were, some acquaintances had been telling him about their time living in their temporary homes. "Well, while I can't tell you from my own opinion, I've been told there's a good one just a few blocks down? I have the time so I could take you there, mate." The masked male pointed down the road, the pedestrians luckily clearing out a bit for a relatively clear view. "I know of a few gated places too, if that's more to your liking? However they're a bit of a walk away."

The male couldn't help but feel a bit bad he couldn't offer some more personal advice, but he really had no idea what the state of a lot of these places were. He DID see the insides of a few rooms back a couple week ago, but that was... an event all it's own.

When you feel like you’re always bugging another mun…

She shrugged a little bit before sitting up and reaching across the table and took his gloved hands into her own, a soft smile playing on her lips a little carelessly. Even though they had never met before in their lives, she felt a connection with this being. Seeing as to how they went through tragedies in their own lives, the silence was broken by the jukebox, that seemed to have not been working turning on and roaring out the lyrics to the most notable song in the history of anything, “Amazing Grace.”

It was broken and creepy as Devy shuddered a little bit as the eerie sound that it seemed to be almost whispering to them both.

“This place gives me the creeps…"

Devy said before standing and letting go of his hands before walking over to the jukebox and ripping out the cord from the wall socket. The musical machine automatically shut down whirring and clicking to a stop, her jaded orbs looked it over a few more times. Before looking over her shoulder at Mr. Foster.

“We should get out of here soon…who knows what monsters this town has to offer besides ourselves…"

Chuckling before moving over behind the counter and locating a map, blowing the dust off as the flecks just cruised through the air. The dim light from the fogged sun outside was their only source of light, approaching the booth again she sat down right next to him and spread the map out. Immediately locating the diner on the map,

“Okay..so we are here..the police station isn’t too far away..maybe they have some supplies there..what do you think Mr. Foster?"

"Christ, thing near gave me a heart attack."

He placed a hand on his chest, feeling his sudden pounding heart slow down to a more comfortable rate once Devy had gotten up and promptly unplugged that hell spawn of a machine. "You could say that again.. I don't think I'm going to enjoy this 'Silent Hill' very much." The idea of getting out of here was pleasant, although the last bit about the monsters.. Not so much. Mr. Foster just nodded his head, and watched as Devy walked back over and plopped down next to him, more dust floofing up into the air like little rockets. He waved them away, and turned his attention down to the map she had spread out on the table.

'Police station'

The word rang out in his head a few times, mind processing the options they had and whether or not it was best to head on over there. "Well, it wouldn't hurt to try, maybe find something worth using, like a radio." He leaned in a smidge closer, studying the map thoroughly. Knowing his luck, he DEFINITELY wanted to avoid the hospital. Those places were just bad news all around. The man turned his head, and focused his attention back on Devy who was waiting for his answer. 

"Okay yeah, that sounds good with me. Certainly better than staying here, right?" 

He sat up in his chair, and stared out one of the windows close by, falling into deep thought. Mr. Foster had an entire country to get back to, a country that needed him. He still wondered how he managed to apparently WALK into an entirely different country all together. He'd seen some weird things, but nothing this supernatural before. A gloved hand wiped off some dust on the lenses of his mask, finally returning back to the real world.

He’s had enough experience of mercenaries in the same garb from his old job, true, but Jean reminds himself uneasily that people who dress the same way here can’t possibly be pyromaniacs themselves, if not a little wrong in the head. Besides, it’s nearing Halloween; there might be some festival somewhere in the city he knows nothing of, though that’s only to be expected. He’s yet to get properly acquainted with the place, after all.

In spite of his own reservations, he takes a step towards the stranger and raises a hand in greeting. Desperation is often mankind’s downfall but Jean’s loathe to spend another night in a shoddy hotel— if he isn’t going to land a place of his own quick, he’ll have to make do with the one he spent night in just recently. And they have terrible showers.

Eh? Mr. Foster turned his head a bit, seeing an unfamiliar man begin to approach him, hand raised a bit to catch his attention. He's never seen this man before, so he braced himself, expecting the man to be one of the governments newest agents sent to follow him or something equally strange. Jean had a French accent, something that was rare but still a pleasant thing for the man to hear. Most of the time, he only listened to English accents, and god forbid, heavy American accents.

'A question, actually'

Mr. Foster wasn't sure how to take this, exactly. He just turned his body more to face the man, head cocked to one side in curiosity. "Oh, uh, of course. How can I help ya, Mate?" His stance was casual, but an unfamiliar face always left him somewhat tense on the inside, a bit of a bad habit, really, being as introverted as he was. With his friends, he was quite a talkative one, but to strangers he typically kept to himself. Was an absolute hell to work with when attempting to sell something to people. He paused, glancing down at his watch quickly to check the time, before turning his attention at the man whom had walked up. Mr. Foster had plenty of time to kill, so he wasn't completely against answering some questions for this guy, well, as long as they weren't too confidential.