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Cath Delaney (dian_cecht) wrote in inpoormerit,

All right, he didn't expect Americans to understand sarcastic humour, but this boy had no excuse at all. "Right," Cath concluded as he heaved the Scot to his feet rather easily.

And he was Irish, so he likely did have a strange definition of luck by everyone else's standards. That was neither here nor there though.

Saints, was he ever this young and wet behind the ears? Probably, before his mother had been murdered. "We're on some sort of island, likely remote. The cottages we're assigned to are labeled with NATO's alphabet designations, but the Commissioner himself seems to be American by the way he writes. So I've no idea there. There's a few shops, including a pub where breakfast was left for us. I think the lady who's set on making certain we all eat a decent meal's did away with that. When I stopped by there, she told me it'd be ready by five o'clock and shooed me away." Which was fine by him, as Cathair was utterly useless in a kitchen. He could make simple things, but what the yank woman was preparing was likely beyond him.

"Besides the yank woman and the girl who responded to her message on the computer, there's her husband she mentioned, a pregnant woman, another American and an English girl. That who I've heard of or encountered. You're the latest find, but I've been trying to map this place, so it's slow going."

He shook his head. "I've no idea what they want with any of us," he admitted. While he thought he had a connection after meeting Riffraff and Drina, the addition of the others blew that theory out of the water. "Along those lines, I'm a book keeper. There doesn't seem to be any connection between us at all, save how we got here. That and we're all English speakers so far. Which might be more convenient for our captors, as they don't have to have a translator to understand us."

He had no doubt almost everything was being recorded somehow. He'd yet to find a camera, but he was still searching. "I was set on seeing what was in the woods next," he admitted, then glanced over the Scots boy again. Saints, not even a kitchen knife on him for a weapon and he looked set on walking into the forest. Heaving out a long breath, he reached into the pocket of his overshirt and pulled out a knife with the cover still on it, offering it to Jamie handle first. "You'll want this if you're comin' in with me, boyo," he said dryly.