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

Still bearing the look of disgust that seemed more appropriately aimed towards rotting garbage, John kept close enough to Marvin and Frankie to avoid mingling in with the others. The fledgling subgroups all kept to themselves, building individual foundations of trust that amounted to little more than, 'I'll shoot you last.' John wanted as little as possible to do with either of the Brotherhood Paladins or his friend from the Institute, and he'd have sooner put a bullet in his own head than chat about energy weapons with the trio of mercenaries not far from him. 

Frankie's sudden exclamation of [i]"Sweet!"[/i] drew John out of his reverie, immediately tracing his eyes back to the girl as she scampered to the storage trunk, her earlier fatigue now nowhere to be seen. His response was a silent, but poignant raised eyebrow that concealed the small smirk threatening to cross his otherwise-apathetic expression. 

With a quick scan of the contents of his satchel to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be, John reached for a Geiger counter and hazmat suit from the trunk, ignoring the maps provided in favor of his own. He stuffed a few of the patches in his bag, content in knowing that there was at least some security in that. John had seen his fair amount of radiation from his travelings around the Wasteland, but he wasn't willing to risk growing an extra arm or two if he could help it. 

Turning just in time to hear Marvin's request to the group as a whole, John couldn't help but chuckle slightly. It was a quiet noise, but clearly distinct to those close to him. Not a joyous, or jovial sound, but cruel and contemptuous. 

[i]“Not bad. I know I feel inspired to run into danger.”[/i]

Trying his best to step one foot after the other into his hazmat suit, John turned to look at Frankie. [color=slategray]"Eh, his sounded better."[/color] He answered simply, motioning with a cock of his head back to Marvin. 

Pausing briefly, as if thinking something over, John reached into the breast of his coat once more, drawing out his now-lighter pack of cigarettes. Saying nothing, he opened it up, deftly plucking a single cigarette and holding it out to Frankie. [color=slategray]"Here. Keep you from falling asleep on the job."[/color] He said, returning the pack to his coat pocket. 

Yet, despite the nonchalant confidence in his actions, John's mind was woefully uncertain. Why should he care that the girl was tired, short on sleep? Certainly the rest of them were, perhaps even more so. Maybe it was practical: the last person you want tired and unfocused is the one removing a bullet or stitching your leg up. But maybe it was something else. Something personal; a bit of kindness here or there, one drop of goodness in a growing sea of selfish pragmatism. If it wasn't her, it would have been someone else, John told himself. A few bottle caps to a stranger down on his luck, maybe; a pack of gumdrops for a street urchin with a tear-stained face. Something little, something insignificant. But then. Then he could feel like the hero again. 

It was when the Paladin started barking out orders like an Old World commander that John felt his bitterness return in full swing. [i]Spread out and stay alert[/i]. Might as well have been his life motto at this point. 

[color=slategray]"Time to go."[/color] John put bluntly, wishing in the back of his mind that he'd savored his last drink maybe a little more.