[He's still smiling--he's almost always smiling, like his face was built to hold one--but unmistakable curiosity shines through.]
Jobs, huh. What do you do here?
[On the surface, a simple question for prying eyes and ears, one that gives her room to maneuver without coming up against the rules stamped on every paper on every telephone pole. Underneath it sits his real question. Does she belong in this Wayward Pines place, or is she like him? Elsewhere one minute, and here the next with no explanation why?
Her interest in weapons immediately puts them on common ground, and his smile kicks up on one side. Nine years of his life invested in combat makes this one of the few things Jack can talk about with any degree of honesty in town. It leaves him with an ache for his brothers and sisters and home as much as it serves to ground him a little. Eight would get a kick out of meeting a fellow martial artist. Cater would probably argue only chumps get disarmed. It feels like they're behind him, ready to pipe up at any second, and he almost leaves time for them to answer--but it's just him.]
"Someone" like the police, yeah. I'd show you how to be a katana master in no time at all if I had one to show. [The roll of his eyes is tolerant, on the verge of joking, but his tone betrays sarcasm. She's right on the money--it's easy for someone to take your weapon when you're wearing a paper gown and out of your head.] Are you looking to keep your skills sharp?
no subject
Jobs, huh. What do you do here?
[On the surface, a simple question for prying eyes and ears, one that gives her room to maneuver without coming up against the rules stamped on every paper on every telephone pole. Underneath it sits his real question. Does she belong in this Wayward Pines place, or is she like him? Elsewhere one minute, and here the next with no explanation why?
Her interest in weapons immediately puts them on common ground, and his smile kicks up on one side. Nine years of his life invested in combat makes this one of the few things Jack can talk about with any degree of honesty in town. It leaves him with an ache for his brothers and sisters and home as much as it serves to ground him a little. Eight would get a kick out of meeting a fellow martial artist. Cater would probably argue only chumps get disarmed. It feels like they're behind him, ready to pipe up at any second, and he almost leaves time for them to answer--but it's just him.]
"Someone" like the police, yeah. I'd show you how to be a katana master in no time at all if I had one to show. [The roll of his eyes is tolerant, on the verge of joking, but his tone betrays sarcasm. She's right on the money--it's easy for someone to take your weapon when you're wearing a paper gown and out of your head.] Are you looking to keep your skills sharp?