Alcatraz. Weird name. Usually Charlie's an idiot when it comes to history, but he briefly recalled the origins of such a name: that goddam penitentiary from the fifties [i]or whatever.[/i] Ever the delinquent, he knew what it was, but nothing about it. 'cept that brother Al stayed there for a little while. It occurred to him that maybe there was no correlation between the kid's name and that hellhole, but he didn't entertain the possibility for very long. [color=thistle][b]"Boy. You from San Fran? More specifically, the Bay?"[/b][/color] He was horsing around, of course, and showed as much with a delightful little sneer. 'Shapeshifter,' while surprising, was nothing he could deduce much from, and he figured he'd look like an idiot if he asked anything now.

[color=39b54a]'[i]Why ignore him if he might have a point? I don't mind a good ol' fashioned beat-down,'[/i][/color] HA. Finally someone with some sense. Charlie shot his elf-pal a look of [i]told ya so,[/i] only to be met with a little mutter against prison kid. Charlie decided he didn't like that attitude and rolled his eyes resolutely. What he did like, though, was this Alcatraz fellow, who seemed to be on the same page, and he nearly offered his helping hand for the scouting spiel; really, it was more important to stick to Fletcher, and if all three of them went along to look around, they'd make a right crowd. Plus, unbeknownst to him, that wouldn't exactly help Al in taking the reins. Instead of speaking up further, he looked to the "manticore" who introduced himself. Similar to Al, his name had some [i]implications.[/i] Not that Charlie was very religious, but Hell, everyone knew of good ol' Dante's Inferno. He looked pretty damn amused at the thought of [i]this guy[/i] in charge of Hell. Still, the dark elf had no idea who this Dante in particular was, nor any clue what the hell a manticore was able to do.

He nodded along vaguely as someone he assumed was the leader went on about vampire facts. Jesus, it was like her goddam party trick, pulling these anecdotes out of her ass. Clenching his jaw to keep from mentioning it, Charlie simply nodded in understanding when she waited for confirmation, then arched his eyebrow inquisitively when Fletcher turned to him with a question. [color=thistle][b]"Well—"[/b][/color] He paused, stuck his foot out to step on Fletch's tapping one, and pieced through his handy-dandy folder to find the information he was asking after. [color=thistle][b]"Are they made of [i]pure, undiluted[/i] silver? Whatever the hell 'undiluted' means. I mean, you could bake some garlic arrows, I dunno."[/b][/color] Charlie just snickered to himself about his own cleverness before realising Fletcher had some issues 'getting' jokes. [color=thistle][b]"No, hey, yeah, make sure they're silver, but it's not, y'know, the most important thing."[/b][/color] He didn't bother to explain. Surely Fletch knew that shooting something with an arrow would fuck it up regardless of material. Rather, he went over briefly to grab hold of a baton - Charlie was much less of a ranged fighter, more of a destructive centre force.