The man, surprisingly spry for one who could not have been comfortable crammed inside that container, looked young, but from what Toby knew from the Gift, he could have been around for millennia...and his eyes were unsettling. Glossy circles of ink.

[Color=#efe9e8][b]"Well. You're quite welcome,"[/b][/color] said Spire. He had retreated a pace as the lid swung open, but he stepped back up to the lockbox to give it a clank with the side of his dusty hiking boot. [Color=#efe9e8][b]"Nice place. How long have you been taking up residence in there?"[/b][/color] he asked with a dry but affable smile.

[color=#cce6ff][b]"Spire..."[/b][/color] said Toby wearily, impatiently. He couldn't shoot the man to any effect until Spire made the regeneration short-circuit. But Spire hushed him, the picture of ease.

[Color=#efe9e8][b]"Oh, come on, kid. Don't tell me you're not curious,"[/b][/color] said Spire. Anyway, the regenerator didn't appear to be posing any immediate threat. [Color=#efe9e8][b]"I'm Spire. This is Toby,"[/b][/color] said the older brother. On the extremely unlikely chance the man would know them by their first names, they'd just kill him, which was the plan anyway. Spire pulled one hand out of his pocket, where it had been settled on the smooth handle of a blade, to offer a hand shake. It would be a good, personable handshake, should the stranger choose to take it, nothing menacing or threatening about it. A good-faith gesture. A we-outnumber-you,-and-are-clearly-armed,-but-here-is-a-friendly-and-vulnerable-offer-to-show-we-mean-no-harm sort of gesture. With a dash of we-did-rescue-you-after-all. By all appearances, Spire was relaxed (but very intentionally not[i] too [/i]relaxed--he had to adjust for the suspicion that always hung in the air of the Wastelands, of course. He manufactured fake emotions with the precision of a well-trained stage actor.[Color=#efe9e8][b] "You got a name, or just...what I'm sure is a really interesting story?" [/b][/color]