SUPEROUND.

           “I’m not making any promises.” But he says it in jest, laughter a warm tint at the edges of his voice as he reaches to retrieve the bag, a certain, exaggerated carefulness to the action ( though, he isn’t in the habit of breaking things on purpose, however much his track record might suggest otherwise ). “Adrian. You?”

         ❝ i’m not a local. ❞ nate’s been to enough places that getting the lay of a new town is fairly easy for him — a different state is nothing compared to rolling through a completely foreign country with nothing more than a map he’d bought himself at barnes and noble — but he’s willing to admit when he’s little more than a tourist.  ❝ it takes more than that to hurt me. i’m nate. ❞

        because doing a good thing also requires insults? nate swallows down the frustration, the self-righteousness burning at the tip of his tongue, and instead reaches out to take his wallet, flipping through it — not a reflection on this guy so much as distrust of people in general — before he tucks it in his back pocket.  ❝ thank you. ❞ it’s genuine; a lot of people would have taken the money and forced nate to cancel his cards and get his id reissued. it would have been a lot of work.  ❝ although, for the record—not a shit head. ❞

                 fingers card through dark hair to pull it away from her face as raynne looks up at him, and then back down, pale eyes FOCUSING on the injury in question.  it takes a moment   ( the hand not cradling her coffee extends, tracing a line through the air just NEAR his skin, without touching )   but then a small shrug lifts one shoulder and the curious digits drop. 

                “   wouldn’t think so.  looks like it’s healing                      clean enough ALREADY, i don’t think i                       would worry.  what the fuck did you DO,                      though ?   ”

           Help is a word that he lacks in his vocabulary, nature less inclined towards caring for the situations of others. A sigh is suppressed when a quick glance confirms that he is, in fact, the person being addressed; makes it difficult to say no when he’s being singled out. “—Sure, I guess. Nothing fragile in it that I should worry about breaking?”

       ❛       —what?      ❜      staring, confused as to why he’d care if he had, in fact, taken her seat ( most people didn’t ), mio takes a h e s i t a n t step forward. she lets out an awkward laugh, hand reaching out to touch his arm, gesturing for him to STOP for a second.      ❛       y'didn’t take my chair. besides, there’s plenty of other places to sit. honestly, don’t worry ‘bout it. please, uh. sit back down?      ❜  

        given that he has no interest in responding to insults — he puts up with a lot of shit, he doesn’t have to put up with that — nate slows only when he feels a hand on his shoulder, turning around slowly. he swallows the spike of anger, lets it fizzle out on his tongue, choosing a neutral expression instead.  ❝ can i help you? ❞

             ❛ Wha’s’a--- whuzzat ? What’re those ? ❜ Listen, he comes from a place that’s got a good handle on technology but fuck him up he doesn’t know nothin’ right now. Makes him nervous. He shifts from foot to foot. ❛ Oh, boy. ❜

             ❛ Weird fuckin’ question but---- you think I look old ? Shit, I ain’t, I know I ain’t but age is but a number. Or whatever they say. ❜ For the last fifteen minutes he’s been poking and prodding at wrinkles and scars on his face, moaning various grunts and groans of dissatisfaction. ❛ Seriously, be as brutally honest as possible. ❜

             ❛ Hey, woah, just hold on a second, man. Slow down, you shit head----  ❜ He’s not in the greatest shape right now, bad knee making him slower and slower as the days wear on. He actually reaches out and seizes the other’s shoulder in an effort to get him to stop.

          ❛ Psst. Hey. Pal. You wanna help me with somethin’ ? ❜ Large hands juggle small black boxes and walkie-talkie-esque devices and a duffel on his shoulder.  ❛ You don’t gotta REALLY do anything, just need you t’grab that bag. Careful: it’s heavy. ❜

           ❛ Shit, did I take your chair ? ❜ Long legs slide out from beneath the small outdoor cafe table and he stands, pulling the chair out in a very strange, archaic gesture and gesturing that she sits. ❛ Figured somebody was sittin’ here but, y’know, they could’a just left their shit. Uh. Sorry. ❜

           ❛ You think this is gonna get all... keloid-y on me ? ❜ He’s got his shirt hiked up under his armpits, both hands touching and pressing around the healing knife wound slicing through his serratus anterior. He frowns. ❛ Mean, don’t give a fuck neither way but I’m just askin’ for a general prediction. ❜