<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;">[[OOC: I have no excuse, apologies.]]</span><br/><br/><strong>Character</strong>: Rich Han<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Gary Danko Backroom, Fisherman's Wharf<br/><strong>Time</strong>: Present<br/><strong>Attire</strong>: Running shoes, cargo pants, t-shirt, backpack<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Rich, Rose<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><em>So she is alone</em>.<br/><br/>It was the answer he had expected, although not the one he hoped for.  It meant one of two things: either she was telling the truth, or this was a two-man mob-job.  He was familiar with the latter, having run a similar con a few months before.  The trick was to lull someone into a false sense of security by mirroring their vulnerability, and then ambush them with an unexpected and hidden partner.  Bash a head, then loot a body.<br/><br/>Rich had never actually done either part.  The first time he and Angie had tried, Angie got a bullet for her troubles, and he never looked back.<br/><br/><em>"How about you?"</em><br/><br/>Rich supposed he'd return the favor.  "Just me, now."  For the second time in as many minutes, he was surprised at the words that spilled from his mouth.  That "now" carried so much weight, so much dangerous potential... or it may make him seem all the more pitiable, a survivor who recently lost a friend.  He wasn't sure which option he wanted her to think.<br/><br/>While she picked over Danko's treasure trove of staple foods, Rich busied himself with a clean, albeit dusty, ladle laying on the burnished counter in front of him.  First he ran his fingers over it, leaving small streaks in the accumulated grime.  Then he polished the curve with the base of his thumb.  His reflection, distorted by the convex aluminum, stared past him at something on the ceiling.<br/><br/><em>"All sorted.  If you're done here I'm ready to leave.  You're not obligated to stick with me once we get out safely, I understand if you want to be on your own.  My plan - if it lasts - is to look for places with high end locks that other people couldn't muscle their way through."  </em><br/><br/>"Huh..." he murmured beneath his breath, letting himself smile slightly.  Whether it was through lockpicking or some kind of machinery, he didn't know, but she knew something about breaking locks.  Now<em>that</em>was a useful skill.  Any brute with an intact neocortex and a functioning hand could fire a gun, but it took finesse to pick a lock.  Maybe he would stick around after all.<br/><br/>When Rose walked out of the pantry, he pulled his hand away from the ladle and stuck it into his pocket sheepishly.  "I'm... well, sure, I'll stick around for now," he said, trying to sound uncertain.  "Two heads are better than one, right?"