((LOOK AT THE EFFORT HERE. He's trying so hard.))
Eyebrows leapt upwards at the mention of shelters, supplies... Hell, he had shit to trade. At this point, he'd barter pretty fucking generously for a bottle of booze. That wasn't the whole of why he'd taken everything he had, though, or else he would have stuck to the legends, the shit addicts drooled over. Oxycontin was probably great for trading, but it wasn't all narcs and benzos, even with him. He hadn't been choosing for street value; he'd been stocking up to do his fucking job. Safe haven sounded good. Shelter. Security. Marcus was all for that. Sign him the fuck up. He had a social, and didn't have an arrest record to run from.
Something about the phrasing struck him, however. Big ol' brick cage. Marcus opened his mouth to voice something along the lines of fuck yeah, sounds great and then shut it without saying a word, considering that particular line. He casts a glance at the woman, whose name he didn't know. These people were both strangers, potentially hostile strangers for all that this guy was now offering rides and being genial. Anything said had to be said with caution. For a man who thoroughly enjoyed running his mouth and had always had the size to back him up when he overstepped, being cautious didn't exactly come naturally. Not even here, at the end of the world.
So Marcus did the best he could, starting slowly, hesitant. “Yeah, we had that shit. 'Big ol' brick cage.' Didn't fucking mind it, to tell the fucking truth. Seemed better than the shit outside, you know? Had a good fucking job.” He doesn't say what it was he did. Just because this guy seemed all right, didn't mean he was. Could very well be a close cousin to that fucking shitstain of an orderly who liked to give Marcus shit for going to nursing school. Never could tell.
Caution fell away as he continued, however, the bitterness seeping in to get the better of him. “Problem with fucking protocols is you get fuckers think they're above 'em. Heh. All it took was one tortillera de mierda to fuck up, and those thick ass walls? They didn't fucking help too much. Entiende? Boxes you in. No hay adonde correr, aun si pudieses correr.”
Marcus sighs, shaking his head to clear it. Probably best not to get into those details either. “Better than riding alone, though. These shelter fucks... think they'd take me to get the rest of my shit? Left some stuff behind I'd like back. Decent bike. Couple more packs tied to it, if nobody else got to them by now. No me gusta pedir favores, but Ricit--” He catches himself (she was still standing right there, after all), “The lady there wasn't in the mood for questions, and we didn't have time to fucking chat.”