[He lifts his head, not looking at Hansa but certainly reacting to the offer. There's hesitation, then doubt, followed by something like want and a smidgen of disappointment before it's topped off by a measure of wariness.]
[He just. Stares at him for a good moment. There's some surprise from him, and then just an almost. Tired, exasperated sort of feeling, like "of course its like that".]
For a guy who acts like he's all business and no pleasure, you sure do have a lot of feelings. [He says, deadpan. Anyways, he's reaching for a chair.] Anyways, stop quashing your own thoughts there before they have a chance to live, you idiot. I'll help out.
Well, of course. But I said I'd help you. What else do you want to do here? I said I would help you with the maps, so tell me how I can help you with the maps.
[The annoyance spikes when the rolled up map hits him on the head. Curiously, it dissipates halfway after that as if to power the frown that creases his face.]
How many times do I have to say it? . . . The maps aren't the problem.
[And a laugh. There's a spark of joy, almost childlike, that comes from Hansa, like a kid who just discovered a gold coin shining at the bottom of a deep dark hole.]
I kid, I kid. I mean, I know what you do, and what you're like. But stuff like...what you like to do outside of your job, or your favorite color, or if you think mustard is better than ketchup. Simple stuff like that tells a lot about a person.
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[He huffs.]
For all you know, these could just be like. Randomly generated.
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I'm familiarizing myself with the area.
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And what will you do when they turn out to be false? I hope you have a plan B.
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[Though he doesn't seem to be too interested in the maps, himself, based on the feelings filtering over. His attention is mostly on Rufus.]
Do you need any help?
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No. I'm just about finished.
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[He just. Stares at him for a good moment. There's some surprise from him, and then just an almost. Tired, exasperated sort of feeling, like "of course its like that".]
For a guy who acts like he's all business and no pleasure, you sure do have a lot of feelings. [He says, deadpan. Anyways, he's reaching for a chair.] Anyways, stop quashing your own thoughts there before they have a chance to live, you idiot. I'll help out.
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The jolt of irritation cuts through again. But the disappointment fades as Rufus regards Hansa with faint curiosity.]
. . . Help in what way?
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I've got a good head for directions. We can go out on town together and see what adds up, and what doesn't. Maps require footwork, too.
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Some of them are unreadable. The ones that are, aren't to scale for walking.
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Then we just fill in the blanks for some, decipher the others, and figure it out. Like a puzzle, right?
[he's a jock taking on something nerdy don't listen to him]
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Weren't you the one who said that the maps might be false? Moreover, I don't need one to know the area.
[He can explore and memorize the port town's layout for himself.]
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Well, of course. But I said I'd help you. What else do you want to do here? I said I would help you with the maps, so tell me how I can help you with the maps.
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I don't need help with the maps . . .
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[Just going to pluck a map to look over it, casually.]
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[Finally, a spike of mischieviousness comes ahead, and he suddenly rolls up the map to bonk Rufus in the head with it.]
You have a mouth, man. Explain yourself. Why are you feeling this way? Come on.
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How many times do I have to say it? . . . The maps aren't the problem.
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Is something else on your mind, then?
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What you said last time . . .
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[Wait. Last time?]
When I said I wanted to get to know you and not use you as a vending machine?
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There's a brief moment of silence before something clamps down on his reluctance and he brushes aside the looming frustration to ask:]
What do you want to know?
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[And a laugh. There's a spark of joy, almost childlike, that comes from Hansa, like a kid who just discovered a gold coin shining at the bottom of a deep dark hole.]
I kid, I kid. I mean, I know what you do, and what you're like. But stuff like...what you like to do outside of your job, or your favorite color, or if you think mustard is better than ketchup. Simple stuff like that tells a lot about a person.
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Unease creeps in, but something else—something colder—hardens around it as he answers:]
The last time I was between jobs . . . I went to my house and sat in the dark.
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[Did he just...not think of things to do?]
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