He was listening. Honestly, he was. It was just that he was thinking physics and hypotenuse and wind speed breathe deeply hold breath trigger trigger— [b]“Yep! Uhuh?”[/b]

Dempsey snapped to and flinched like he’d been slapped by the man instead of being given an anxiety recommendation. [b]“Fireball! Twitchy! That’s good, h-heh, that’s... really good...”[/b] His gaze flicked away again. [b]“No... nonono... gotta stay sharp. Gotta be alert, think on my feet. Can’t l-lose focus! Heh!”[/b] Besides, who knew who might sneak up on him while his head was fuzzy?! He needed his wits about him, or he’d be a sitting duck. Mellow Dempsey was useless in a sortie. He thought he would be, anyway. 

The group was coming together and the redhead twitched in recognition that he was the topic of discussion, making another jerky motion that might have been a nod of agreement to Cassian and Ambrosine. [b]“Y-yes ma’am!”[/b] He stammered to Cider. His pupils dilated as the implication of keeping a monster in the safehouse sunk in and a shudder ran through his body. 

Dempsey gave another hiccup and turned back to Asche, already deflating in relief that someone was stepping up to a more leaderly role. [b]“M-me? Nailgun. They call me that.”[/b] He hitched a nervous laugh and his fingers tightened on his sniper rifle til the knuckles turned white. [b]“O-oh boy, you can count on me for the shot,”[/b] he assured the other contractors, jiggling the weapon. [b]“Face is protected though. Right? I heard that?! Mask, or something.”[/b] At the mention of AP rounds, Dempsey threw a hesitant glance at Cider for permission and gave a quick nod. [b]“Got it. Gotitgotit. I know a place—overlooks Ninth Ward, will stake out.” [/b]He threw a  thumbs-up.