The blond man watched carefully as he saw Ragnar and Bobby talk; the smile on the smaller man's face and the ease and familiarity of the larger man reminded him yet again of those confusing, fucked-up feelings he had felt with Cid and Steve and Loki. Yeah yeah, all this buddyish bullshit. I'm about to throw up he thought to himself bitterly as he remembered the COG's lectures on "duty to one's brethren" (translation: throw yourself into a wheat thresher for them. Not like 'them-them' of course, just 'them' in a nice big vague abstract. Fucking assholes). It was over soon though and eventually Damon stepped onto the sidewalk with Ragnar in tow.
New Yorkers shuffled by, cabs crawled down the tarmac, the towers loomed above him and formed a concrete-and-glass-walled canyon. Immediately he turned down the street, but turned back towards Ragnar when the Space Wolf made inquiries. "Its a credit card, yeah, you use it and the accounts its linked to will make the transfer," he responded; he was too busy thinking about what he'd use that transfer to buy to speculate about the economic conditions which Ragnar's lack of familiarity implied. He shook his head when asked about who "Uncle Sam" was. "Never heard of him," Baird replied quickly with a very slight edge of irritation in it. Fucking hate not knowing shit... He turned back to the street and began walking to the first deli; he waved over his back towards Ragnar.
Various New Yorkers looked at Ragnar; expressions of wide-eyed shock and suspicious glares were thrown his way, yet everyone made sure to stand well-clear of the Space Marine and no one talked to him. Damon, whilst of above-average height and build, attracted no attention.
About an hour and twenty minutes later, Damon strolled out of the fourth shop (a bakery this time; the previous shops were a delicatessen, a chocolatier and a specialty butcher). He had several bags in his hands; he had given a few to Ragnar for extra assistance. The sun glinted off the lenses of his goggles as he strolled in the direction of one of Bobby's favorite gourmet ice-cream parlors; don't want it to melt before we get it home he thought. Drake can freeze it for travel anyway.
"Next stop's the last one," Baird called out over his broad shoulder as he continued to pace down the sidewalk. He knew Ragnar would follow him through the New York City streetscape.