If you stay in a place long enough, you start to pick up the way things work. A week is more than enough time if you're sharp, and Gray is sharp. He figures out why they saved him, the reason they ain't gonna come right out and tell him. The shrewd political reason. Although he's certain there's an element there of compassion. But still. Have to keep that in mind, even if you're grateful. And Gray's grateful, alright. He'd be dead without Dog King James Call-Me-Rodeo.
He makes his way to the Council Chambers, trying the whole way to make up his mind whether he's in the right mind or the wrong. He figures he's still a little shell-shocked over the zombie bite, can't stop gripping the arm right above it. Woke up in a panic last night afraid it'd been a dream, afraid he was about to go full-on zombie. Those nightmares'll keep up for a while, Gray is sure.
He's been wearing nothing but long sleeves and full-length pants. It's hot, but he finds he'd much rather be hot than have those scars open for display. In time, he might embrace it. But for now, they are too fresh, too new.
He spots Rodeo and the sign behind him. He puts his hands in his pockets and says, "Shit, brother, I can't go in there. I's just a corporal." It's a weak attempt at humour but it's better than nothing. Gray is pretty sure he's doing a pretty good job with the jokes, all things considered. His anger is still a little too high. It isn't a thing he's proud of but he figures it's a thing he'll have to cope with, until it isn't as much, isn't as hot, isn't as whatever it is that burns through him.
But now it's time to talk. Time to take a couple good shots at those elephants in the room. It isn't a world in which you can drag your feet, wait for things to shake out. You have to do your own shaking. And Rodeo knows it, Gray's certain.