[Ah. He wasn't expecting that from anyone here. Fugo shoots Wylan a perceptive look, gauging whether the offer was made out of bravado or not.]
Yeah, actually, having another person to help carry things would be very helpful. Just keep in mind that I won't be able to engage the infected. [He doesn't have the energy to spare to fight in a more conventional manner or a gun. And he doesn't trust Purple Haze in an environment like this, a closed environment made up of dozens of tiny spaces, even if he weren't an excessive amount of force to begin with.] I've memorized the layout of the building and know where we can hide out until they lose interest, but if we catch their attention we'll be running.
[At the talk of an explosion, rather than recoiling in shock, there's a brief touch of humor to the set of Fugo's brows and mouth; not quite a smile, but he's amused by the thought of some Nice Property Damage being inflicted on this Shitty Hell Mall.]
Probably not. Although, on that note... it's a little odd. [Fugo drops his right hand on the counter, restlessly drumming his fingers on the surface in an odd, distinctive manner. The movement rolls smoothly through the first three lightly curved fingers and then starts all over again when he tucks his thumb under his middle finger, this time allowing the gesture to reach his pinky. When it begins again] It's been... what? Seven, almost eight hours since the exits were sealed? Logic dictates that the number of infected wandering the halls would have decreased by now, given the efforts to contain them. But I'm not sure that's the case.
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Yeah, actually, having another person to help carry things would be very helpful. Just keep in mind that I won't be able to engage the infected. [He doesn't have the energy to spare to fight in a more conventional manner or a gun. And he doesn't trust Purple Haze in an environment like this, a closed environment made up of dozens of tiny spaces, even if he weren't an excessive amount of force to begin with.] I've memorized the layout of the building and know where we can hide out until they lose interest, but if we catch their attention we'll be running.
[At the talk of an explosion, rather than recoiling in shock, there's a brief touch of humor to the set of Fugo's brows and mouth; not quite a smile, but he's amused by the thought of some Nice Property Damage being inflicted on this Shitty Hell Mall.]
Probably not. Although, on that note... it's a little odd. [Fugo drops his right hand on the counter, restlessly drumming his fingers on the surface in an odd, distinctive manner. The movement rolls smoothly through the first three lightly curved fingers and then starts all over again when he tucks his thumb under his middle finger, this time allowing the gesture to reach his pinky. When it begins again] It's been... what? Seven, almost eight hours since the exits were sealed? Logic dictates that the number of infected wandering the halls would have decreased by now, given the efforts to contain them. But I'm not sure that's the case.