[center][color=Slategray][h1]John Delaware[/h1][/color][/center]
[b][ Fleetwood Subway Station ][/b]
[@Polaris North] [@Dread]

[color=slategray][i]'Dammit, that was too loud -- stupid, stupid, stupid!'[/i][/color] John cursed at himself in his mind, an act only conveyed by the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth that threatened to curve into an even deeper frown. He hadn't been trying to draw attention to himself, let alone in such a dim-witted fashion. 

Scratching the back of his neck nonchalantly - or embarrassedly - John brought his other hand to his mouth, making a sound that could only be described as a deep, raspy growl that devolved to a quick series of rough coughs; his lungs' way of rebuking him for smoking that last cigarette. 

Recovering from the fit as quickly as it had arrived, John cleared his throat, stepping forward a few more feet, the light now catching his features, the rugged looks that one might have once called handsome. It was his eyes, mostly: hazel-green orbs that seemed to hold so, so much burden in them. They were exhausted, somehow both discerning, yet unable to focus. He still could have passed for good-looking now, maybe after a shower, a cup of black coffee, a shave, and an Addictol or two. But that look in his eyes was all it took to drag his youth down, his spirit with it. 

Yet despite how burned out he seemed, his senses were still sharp, sharp enough to hear the young medic's question to the Ghoul. With a small half-smirk - one devoid of any actual mirth - John simply replied, [color=slategray]"Not long."[/color] His posture seemed looser, more relaxed. He wasn't willing to share it with the two of them, but he found himself drawn into the old Ghoul's tale as well, detective's habit. He'd heard plenty of stories, more than he could hope to remember. Some were more interesting than others, of course, but all were important to whatever case he was working on at the time. Even now, he couldn't not listen. The gears in his head kept spinning, filing, placing a large [i]Non-Suspect[/i] stamp over the Ghoul and the girl both. Yet there was still a tick that the Ghoul was leaving details out. An unavoidable casualty when trying to summarize almost two-hundred-years of background, but this seemed almost deliberate. Life as a mercenary, well, there's a lot that would entail, whether for good or ill. 

Waiting a few seconds to let his initial reply settle, John finally spoke again, introducing himself: [color=slategray]"Delaware. John Delaware."[/color] He offered no handshake, no friendly smile, no inquiry to what their own names were in turn. All he gave them was a small bow of his head, as if thinking that was enough. It certainly was for him.