Immediately and without contemplation, Kurt's body language shifted; his back stiffened, his shoulders spread and his eyes locked directly onto Blaze's. Yet, in spite of the immediate appearance of his stance, despite how challenging and threatening it appeared, there was nothing fierce or angry upon Kurt's face. Instead, there was an almost unreadable expression, one of pensive deliberation, as though he were examining Blaze, head to toe.<br/><br/>And he was. Blaze didn't seem particularly threatening to Kurt, he had to admit - nothing compared to that Devin, or any of the other shirt-bursting muscleheads that he'd bumped into at the part - but all the same, the invitation pricked a drop of anxiety in the youth's gut. People angered him. People frightened him.<br/><br/>Blaze did not seem all that threatening - and, to his liver's disappointment, Kurt's drunken mind betrayed him. With a sudden, jovial smirk, he dropped his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "Make it something a little stronger, and I'm in." he bargained with a light-hearted grin, checking his phone once more, deciding that free booze was free booze, and Kurt was a big boy. And, if Kurt wasn't a big enough boy, there was always the Stanley knife he kept in his pocket, the one his fingers curled protectively around, now. It was for self-defence, only; as brash and rude as Kurt was, he wasn't malicious. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't claim the same for this new guy, could he?<br/><br/><br/>----<br/><br/><br/>Luther, a little taken aback, glanced around to make sure everyone else was okay, before pulling Quinn gently to the side and looking at him hard. "If you're experiencing difficulties remember, I have to enquire, does your head hurt anywhere?" he asked, a serious tone to his voice. There was a look of genuine worry in the man's features, hidden somewhere behind the vacant, almost dead expression that he had seemed to effortlessly maintain throughout this entire dilemma. Close to impatience, but not quite there, Luther turned again, eager to catch sight of the police and paramedics that he could already hear, filing swiftly from their vehicles.<br/><br/>"How much can you remember?" he asked, his words firm, and rapid, pushing pressure sharply onto Quinn for an immediate answer. Had this man been hit on the head? Luther tried to remember, but as embarrassing as it was, his own memories were not as clear as he'd like, though he reminded himself that was a perfectly natural response. What<span style="font-style: italic">wasn't</span>natural was being as clueless as this man before him was, which worried Luther immensely; did he have amnesia?<br/><br/>However, Luther was not slow; he had noted the ridiculously erratic changes that this man had flitted between during the course of events they had just endured. The man before him, now, seemed sweet, innocent, amiable. He did not seem the same man that had brought fists to a gun fight only moments earlier. All the same, Luther was eager to ensure that this man had no immediate, life-threatening head trauma, first. He'd be damned if he'd let this man die of concussion after surviving an armed robbery; that would be too much guilt on his conscience.