(He takes the shirt from Joe and slips it back on. He smooths the material out, his brain already working a mile a minute. Nicky somehow managed to look bored, or serene rather, while he was calculating his situations. He was probably the calmest of their group, always rational, always trying to think five steps ahead.
Now that he knew Joe was here with him, he wasn't as nervous. They had survived through far worse than a surprisingly domestic home with butter yellow carpet. He actually looks around him at their surroundings, and he's surprised by how comfortable they actually were. He slips his hand into Joe's, slotting their fingers tightly together in a squeeze, and then he starts to walk.)
I think we're alone here.
(He peeks into the bedroom Joe had woken up in, and then the bathroom, and then the third bedroom. It really was shockingly domestic. He walks over to one of the windows and looks out. They were in a neighborhood. An American one, Nicky assumed, by the looks of the architecture. Classically cookie-cutter with neat, organized green yards and cars parked in the driveways.
They had been to America a handful of times but usually stayed in cities. There weren't too many intense crimes being committed out in suburbs like this. He withdraws from the window, turning back to Joe.)
I don't think we are in London at all right now. This looks like America.
no subject
(He takes the shirt from Joe and slips it back on. He smooths the material out, his brain already working a mile a minute. Nicky somehow managed to look bored, or serene rather, while he was calculating his situations. He was probably the calmest of their group, always rational, always trying to think five steps ahead.
Now that he knew Joe was here with him, he wasn't as nervous. They had survived through far worse than a surprisingly domestic home with butter yellow carpet. He actually looks around him at their surroundings, and he's surprised by how comfortable they actually were. He slips his hand into Joe's, slotting their fingers tightly together in a squeeze, and then he starts to walk.)
I think we're alone here.
(He peeks into the bedroom Joe had woken up in, and then the bathroom, and then the third bedroom. It really was shockingly domestic. He walks over to one of the windows and looks out. They were in a neighborhood. An American one, Nicky assumed, by the looks of the architecture. Classically cookie-cutter with neat, organized green yards and cars parked in the driveways.
They had been to America a handful of times but usually stayed in cities. There weren't too many intense crimes being committed out in suburbs like this. He withdraws from the window, turning back to Joe.)
I don't think we are in London at all right now. This looks like America.