[i][color=fff200]Tough, no chuckle even[/color][/i], Hafadac sighs inwardly as his joke flops, but he plays an upbeat farce. Wet eye scans the three Rats who haven’t thus-far fled, the sad circumstances of their present straits a log for later if rels unsour and situations norm: ‘Sledgie,’ ‘Sourpuss,’ and ‘Mouse.’ [i][color=fff200]Syndicate scum, note—dangerous, probs own this place, harass squatters.[/color][/i] Responsive, his other, digital eye relentlessly vacillates, the yellow on black dimming to a buzz-kill intensity while the smile halves and stops winking. Suddenly awkward, shy, he pulls up his hood. Where skin isn’t hidden by jacket, joggers, kicks, and power-fist, it is easy to see his life light mellows to match his mood and deep, smooth, unhurried voice.

[i][color=fff200]“Heard the, uh, stone person; yeah? You’re safe, from us leastwise; maybe safer with. Heck, we should all stick together! You cool [b]cats[/b] seem street smart. Why not? What’s worstcase? Oh, yeah... food, food. Don’t have any. Hah! But I’ve got energy shots, you can eat the whole thing.”[/color][/i]

Without ado, he reaches in his jacket and reveals a handful of 2 ouncers. Luminescent green-gold liquid sloshes inside, shimmering with flecks of white and the promise of vital verve. They resemble little test tubes, but there’s no obvious cap. [i][color=fff200]Hopefully they don’t assume these are exotic narcotics[/color][/i], he worries behind a grin. Hafadac offers them to the Rats and the stone person, Pillar, the latter whom he recalls mentioning eating. [i][color=fff200]Clueless how. Nada point to prejudge[/color][/i], he decides. Better to observe. Allow others to observe, too. One of the two shots still in hand he pops into his mouth and chews through the sugar, cellulose, and glycerin casing until the flavor shot bursts with a vibrant cara cara punch, chews it all up like saltwater taffy.

[i][color=fff200]“Name’s Hafadac,”[/color][/i] he babbles around a chew, [i][color=fff200]“friends call me Glowstick — maybe we catch up with Ivory and Skeksi?”[/color][/i]

Too eager to await an answer, he scampers off, gesturing for them to follow. Dilapidated wood planks creak under his bounce, shadowless. [i][color=fff200]Damn, that moon is bright. Weird, too. Where am I even?[/color][/i] Time for contemplation short, he arrives at the door just as the avian and robotic duo finish wrecking the padlock.

[i][color=fff200]“Thirsty?”[/color][/i] he offers with a catch-toss of the energy shot still in his hand. 

Bigger up close, the warehouse looms ominous, pregnant with possibility, perhaps with an exterior clue in the form of signage. Nada. No idea who’s bad side they’re about to get on, what with the breaking and entering. Maybe for the best. Lots of debris, with scans for objects of interest — weapons, spray paint, signage, architectural themes, wifi, access ports — ongoing. Maybe inside, he’d learn more. But for now, he sates his curiosity and asks, [i][color=fff200]“Recouping from what?”[/color][/i]
[color=fff200][h3][center]— ⚈ —[/center][/h3][/color]
Intrusive thoughts unwind time in his mind, backing him into the corner of his situationship. He’s not physically tired. More manic than normal, actually. But his mind is fraught, nervous system taut, and he’s performing like an absolute fake. Bravado. Same insane mental mode that precipitated his pale paralysis ride of white lights and faceless phantoms. No accident, if bad decisions pass for intent. That’s nature, the fate of those who don’t fit in with the rest of society and have the temerity to believe, think, and act like they can just be. Just exist. Bright blood, body mods, tats—all cool. Animism—weird, but still friends. Backing down from a dare? Not in a dozen lifetimes, even if everyone knew the risks. 
[color=fff200][h3][center]— ⚈ —[/center][/h3][/color]
Stale air from the building’s exposed innards hits his nostrils, and just like that Hafadac’s back.