Survival at any cost is an old habit long since ingrained into bone-deep instinct. Maybe the way he's been living lately is different, for the setting if nothing else, but this? A wary stand off while two people with no reason to trust each other weigh up the options and decide if it's worth taking a chance on not shooting first? Yeah, this is pretty familiar ground. There was a time not really all that long ago when something like this was just about the closest thing to a civilized social interaction he knew how to have.
Things change. Being back to living like this, sleeping lightly with his back against a wall and his fingers curled around a weapon, doesn't change the fact that he knows now what it's like to have people he trusts completely and without question to have his back. But it's not difficult to slip back into that old mindset, to let go of everything else and trust the feral survival instincts that have seen him through so much worse than this. Nothing else matters but surviving long enough to get out of here.
He responds to the slight uncoiling of the tension in her stance in kind, easing out from behind the cover of the tree. After a pregnant pause he dips the barrel of his rifle and makes a show of slowly and deliberately putting the safety back on before sliding it back into the makeshift holster strapped across his back, keeping his movements easy and non-threatening. If he'd wanted to shoot her he wouldn't have bothered announcing his presence with anything other than a bullet, but mentioning that doesn't really seem like it's going to achieve anything. Holstering the rifle is a gesture as much as anything else. He's got good cover here, and no real investment in sticking around if this looks like it's going to go south; if she decides she wants to start shooting at him, all he's got to do is duck back behind the tree and lay down a little cover fire with the pistol currently strapped to his thigh for long enough to melt away into the undergrowth.
He folds his arms and leans against the tree, and though his body language is relaxed, his eyes are still intent as he watches her warily. "Wasn't expectin' survivors," he comments, eyes flickering sideways to the hatch of the crashed craft. He sure as hell wasn't expecting survivors as intact and functional as she appears to be. It does complicate matters a bit, but there's no reason for this to be a complete waste of time.
His gaze sweeps assessingly over the craft before returning to her. He gives a small shrug. "Look, we don't gotta waste time and ammo here. More company's gonna be comin'. That thing ain't goin' anywhere, and you can only carry so much. I'm just here for first crack at whatever's left after you're on your way."
no subject
Things change. Being back to living like this, sleeping lightly with his back against a wall and his fingers curled around a weapon, doesn't change the fact that he knows now what it's like to have people he trusts completely and without question to have his back. But it's not difficult to slip back into that old mindset, to let go of everything else and trust the feral survival instincts that have seen him through so much worse than this. Nothing else matters but surviving long enough to get out of here.
He responds to the slight uncoiling of the tension in her stance in kind, easing out from behind the cover of the tree. After a pregnant pause he dips the barrel of his rifle and makes a show of slowly and deliberately putting the safety back on before sliding it back into the makeshift holster strapped across his back, keeping his movements easy and non-threatening. If he'd wanted to shoot her he wouldn't have bothered announcing his presence with anything other than a bullet, but mentioning that doesn't really seem like it's going to achieve anything. Holstering the rifle is a gesture as much as anything else. He's got good cover here, and no real investment in sticking around if this looks like it's going to go south; if she decides she wants to start shooting at him, all he's got to do is duck back behind the tree and lay down a little cover fire with the pistol currently strapped to his thigh for long enough to melt away into the undergrowth.
He folds his arms and leans against the tree, and though his body language is relaxed, his eyes are still intent as he watches her warily. "Wasn't expectin' survivors," he comments, eyes flickering sideways to the hatch of the crashed craft. He sure as hell wasn't expecting survivors as intact and functional as she appears to be. It does complicate matters a bit, but there's no reason for this to be a complete waste of time.
His gaze sweeps assessingly over the craft before returning to her. He gives a small shrug. "Look, we don't gotta waste time and ammo here. More company's gonna be comin'. That thing ain't goin' anywhere, and you can only carry so much. I'm just here for first crack at whatever's left after you're on your way."