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[b]Los Angeles - Obscure Alleyway[/b]
[@Count Cuddles] & [@The Harbinger of Ferocity][hr]

[i]Odd[/i], he thought. [i]He seems quite genuine.[/i]
First impressions meant a lot to Keandre, they usually decided how he'd treat an individual for their remaining time together. Usually it was very easy to make a bad first impression on him but he actually found himself liking Faultline. There was something unmistakably [i]earnest[/i] and [i]good[/i] about him. It was easy to imagine why the older man had wound up fighting crime, it was likely that he had a strong sense of morality and that struck Keandre as a hopeful concept. He had met a few very jaded heroes in his time, they wore down on his nerves more often than not.

It was the heroes that seemed truly dedicated to what they were doing that stuck out to him, the ones who genuinely wanted to see [i]change.[/i] He had clicked very easily with La Buitre because her naivety and her innocence had made her such a [i]good[/i] hero. She believed in everything she was doing, she wanted to be the change she wanted to see in the world. It seemed in its way that Faultline was similar, albeit, probably less sweet. 

Keandre [i]was[/i] one of those annoyingly jaded heroes himself, but that didn't stop him from appreciating the honest-to-God goodness that he saw in others. This revelation softened some of his defenses, he was still a bit wary but he was much less wary than he had been. “[color=a0410d]I fear you'll be disappointed to learn that the mask is as good as it gets with me.[/color]” 

He paused, lifted his mask a little again and drained the rest of his flask in one quick gulp. The whiskey burned all the way down his throat and warmed his cheeks. He was a little sorry to have finished off the flask so early in the day but that was the pain of addiction. He was lucky he'd never dabbled in cigarettes, he'd be hacking up a lung right about now. He tossed the silver flask into his messenger bag, a bit carelessly because it clattered loudly against something glass. 

“[color=a0410d]I [i]am[/i] a bit new,[/color]” he admitted. “[color=a0410d]I am from France, if the accent somehow escaped you though, you do not [i]seem[/i] daft, so I doubt it did.[/color]” His words were very blunt but it didn't seem as if he was trying to be unkind. It just seemed as if that was how he was used to communicating. “[color=a0410d]La France me manque. It was quite beautiful there.[/color]”

A small part of him was still troubled by the idea of being watched. He didn't like things seeing him that he couldn't see himself. He had no way of finding their silent observer and that irked a corner of his mind. “[color=a0410d]I know you from the radio. Ils avaient beaucoup à dire sur vous.[/color]" 

A pause, then, almost casually. "[color=a0410d]Are you as concerned with the idea of being watched as I am? It is a very ominous prospect and one I am not keen to.[/color]”[/center]