"I don't live in any one place," Dusty said in regards to the 'maybe where he lived' comment. He liked that no one could pin him down at any given time. He had a hell of a stash of firearms and some might be tempted to try to take from him if they had any idea where he kept his house.<br/><br/>"I know ol Helene," he said with a nod. He knew a lot of the local loners that kept to themselves. It was those sorts who he preferred to trade with. "Dats that bayou hospitality. We don't leave no one stranded. Not out here, not out in da road eida." Caelan had gotten a taste of that when Dusty had turned his truck around. It was hard to ignore his roots even when he knew that he should.<br/><br/>"A little shanty out on da wata. Easy to move. Easy to conceal," he explained. He doubted Caelan would get a close mental imagine. "Porch for fishin. More dan any man eva need." For Dusty though, he was the king of his castle, and he answered to no one. Perhaps mother nature, but he'd been on the river long enough to know when to heed her warnings. "Repairs ain't dat bad on it and I like not having to look ova my shoulder. Who gonna try to track me out here? No one that can outskill me, no sir." Dusty wasn't bragging. He was simply confident in his ability out in the swamps. He'd lived it his entire life, and once broken off from his family, he lived it on his own. Paranoid and untrusting before the fall of society, nothing had changed.<br/><br/>"Beats the hell out of a city apartment," Dusty figured, still absolute in his thinking that Caelan should probably seek refuge elsewhere. How he'd made it so far with his recklessness and naivety was pure luck. The first fish Dusty ended up pulling up was a catfish because he hadn't taken his own advice and had let it sit on the bottom for a while. It was still a decent catch, and with a harsh thump to stun it, he tossed it in the boat.<br/><br/>"Talkin' like dis all day we just gonna be throwin over catfish," Dusty joked with a snort as he rebaited his hook.