He's assigned their physical differences roughly the same importance as the decor of the apartment, it just doesn't stop him from gangling about the place like the ruffian he is. Cleaned up and put in a suit, he would still exude a certain sullen bulkiness no amount of polish could make gentlemanly. He could never be Bruce, and would never try.
"Jason," he says, standing at ease and looking about diffidently, not at anything in particular until he returns his gaze to the woman he had thought of as the doctor. Now he does not use any such specific term. He does not immediately volunteer any more information than she's asked for because (judging by the vague air of distraction and distance) he's thinking about the things he found, and how he doesn't know Rex well enough to trust his judgment. His instinct, based on what he's uncovered, is that this woman is not the kind of personality inclined to work with the Militia. But informants don't have to be willing.
But a woman ready to run, to disappear, who keeps identification from the 1940s...
"Just putting together this fuck the Militia thing," he says after a brief hesitation.
no subject
"Jason," he says, standing at ease and looking about diffidently, not at anything in particular until he returns his gaze to the woman he had thought of as the doctor. Now he does not use any such specific term. He does not immediately volunteer any more information than she's asked for because (judging by the vague air of distraction and distance) he's thinking about the things he found, and how he doesn't know Rex well enough to trust his judgment. His instinct, based on what he's uncovered, is that this woman is not the kind of personality inclined to work with the Militia. But informants don't have to be willing.
But a woman ready to run, to disappear, who keeps identification from the 1940s...
"Just putting together this fuck the Militia thing," he says after a brief hesitation.