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King stared at Malcolm, as he so often did, and grinned a venomous grin at his morbid joke. The smile remained even as Astrid hissed out a complaint and moved on to more pressing matters, and King pressed his back against the far wall as ideas came and went. King watched the colors shimmer in the air, changing as time went on. The coins flipped again and again as hormones and stress kept his companions from staying sound of emotion (and perhaps mind). He honestly didn't want to think of a plan. He had no motivation, and even if the suicide pact idea was said with jest his heart seemed to swell with the thought of just ending it all early.

But at the same time, he didn't want to die like this.

King's eyes drifted from Astrid, to Jess, and then finally Aiden Philips. His jaw automatically set at the boy's voice, tight with distaste and annoyance because the kid finally had something useful to say. Death ran further away from King, replaced with just the smallest flame of hope for this whole escaping plan. A van was one step closer to the outside world, one step closer to being on the run but warm and almost safe. His eyes lowered to his feet, glare vanishing as he let out a noise that could perhaps be deciphered as appreciation to Aiden's words.

The next issue floated before his eyes now: food, water, clothes, [i]necessities[/i]. King tapped the wall to get everyone's attention and leaned forward, face shadowed by the back light gleaming in through the window, [b]"[color=ab2020]Okay, van: check. Now we just need everything else--[/color]"[/b] His eyes turned to the door opposite, glaring again. His father's house sat just outside this space of theirs, a house full of secrets. Secret doors, leading to an under used wine cellar, secret security systems, secret weapons, secret safes. The card sitting in his wallet would only be of use in town, and would endanger them everywhere else. Money, money, money. King felt a sliver of an evil smile return to his lips, and he said darkly, [b]"[color=ab2020]I'm sure dear old dad wouldn't mind if we [i]borrowed[/i] some things, right? Maybe some cash, and whatever else we can find in his room or study.[/color]"[/b] King's hands fell to his chest, gripping at his shirt with unshed anxiety. If they didn't escape, if they couldn't get away, then this idea would murder him and perhaps the rest of them as well.

Motivation to die was swapping with motivation to live however, and the mental block that made his back ache had to be pushed aside for the greater good. For the others. For himself.