[better their safehouses than his own. as Fred - 'Four' - approaches, Callaghan only nods and lets himself be maneuvered how he will. he tries to keep his movements deliberate, especially since he's not resigned to prison, and there is, perhaps, a glimmer of hope.
at Four's method of transport, however, there may be a bit of nausea. if Fred is doing this on purpose to make him sick he's doing a fine job of it. by the time they arrive at the safehouse- actually a guest house on the grounds- he's far too wobbly to do much more than let himself be led inside and collapse on the couch, making a few vague sounds of acknowledgement at the not-quite-suggestion to stay inside. he knows his position, he knows where he stands, he knows that he's on thin ice right now but maybe how about a bit of rest right now...
when he recovers, he does a bit of exploration, and finds it more comfortable than anything he's had since...well, even before his old condo. there's not much in terms of changes of clothes, but he can get clean, at least, and the armored coat is hung up in the closet. metaphorically removing his few remaining defenses, but...
you know what, no. he takes off everything. if they're going to trust him, then he has to show trust in them, and that involves disarming himself completely. the closet remains open, displaying as such; the simple mechanics of the devices weren't damaged by the EMP, but then again, that wasn't his only EMP. the armory is spread out on the table - the dart-launcher, the bracer-jammer-interface-unit, the few other 'grenades', a pair of small knives...
and that's just what he can throw on in a hurry. to be fair, the coat has pockets.
nonetheless, once that's all out for perusal, he settles back down on the couch with a notepad and begins jotting some things down. mostly trying to organize his thoughts, and how to phrase the things they Need to know as opposed to the things...the things he's only so certain about.]
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carisma_sensei
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Date: 2015-04-23 11:44 pm (UTC)at Four's method of transport, however, there may be a bit of nausea. if Fred is doing this on purpose to make him sick he's doing a fine job of it. by the time they arrive at the safehouse- actually a guest house on the grounds- he's far too wobbly to do much more than let himself be led inside and collapse on the couch, making a few vague sounds of acknowledgement at the not-quite-suggestion to stay inside. he knows his position, he knows where he stands, he knows that he's on thin ice right now but maybe how about a bit of rest right now...
when he recovers, he does a bit of exploration, and finds it more comfortable than anything he's had since...well, even before his old condo. there's not much in terms of changes of clothes, but he can get clean, at least, and the armored coat is hung up in the closet. metaphorically removing his few remaining defenses, but...
you know what, no. he takes off everything. if they're going to trust him, then he has to show trust in them, and that involves disarming himself completely. the closet remains open, displaying as such; the simple mechanics of the devices weren't damaged by the EMP, but then again, that wasn't his only EMP. the armory is spread out on the table - the dart-launcher, the bracer-jammer-interface-unit, the few other 'grenades', a pair of small knives...
and that's just what he can throw on in a hurry. to be fair, the coat has pockets.
nonetheless, once that's all out for perusal, he settles back down on the couch with a notepad and begins jotting some things down. mostly trying to organize his thoughts, and how to phrase the things they Need to know as opposed to the things...the things he's only so certain about.]