Cat observed Meshach as he considered her proposition. The minute changes in his facial expression were intriguingly different from what was expected; they were calculated, yet natural. A paradox of emotion. One expression in particular was an intent glare right into her pupils ‒ the glare only lasted a second, but if he actually [i]did[/i] have eye-lasers, she was sure she’d be a pile of ash by now.

As he explained his stance on her offer, Cat couldn’t help but appreciate that he was willing to be as honest as she was. Honesty was a two-way street, and she could tell he understood that on a deep level. Possibly too deep. He’d been hurt by people before ‒ the way she had, maybe even worse. It wasn’t enough to let her guard down around him. However, she couldn’t hold back a slight smile when he finally agreed, especially since he seemed like he had quite a tough time coming to a conclusion. She was certainly expecting him to say “no”, the way he futilely tried to scare her off. Quickly, she adjusted to a more serious countenance.

“We’re on the same page, then,” she agreed when he brought up the imminent war. “The Sector disputes are senseless, and I’d prefer we avoid any level of interaction with Sector Nine, if possible.” Despite her superficial optimism, she had a feeling that coming across Sector Nine Retrievers would be inevitable. The next thing Meshach said surprised her. It felt like most people she worked with didn’t even [i]consider[/i] the idea of traveling with her more than once – but this guy, he seemed to have either misunderstood her intentions or was simply unfamiliar with the territory. “Oh, no, of course not!” she responded, holding her hands up in an assenting manner. “This is a one-time deal – I know you Hunters tend to work together for longer periods, but Retrievers go case-by-case.” She remembered how her mother had a small team of five members that hunted together for months at a time, though she figured some Hunters were skilled enough to modify their combat styles with new teammates for each mission. This Afflicted-skin-wearing man definitely looked like that type, but she was more than fine with that.

“Meshach, huh?” she said, enjoying the consonant sounds. It rolled off the tongue, in a way. She shook his hand casually yet firmly, her other hand in her pocket. “So, now that we’ve had a bite to eat, you’re ready to go, then?” Her asking was more of a formality than anything, since she had already began a swift pace toward the direction of the Cache. She turned her head a little to make sure he was following.