Re: mal/hannah/si
Mal hoped he blended. He very much hoped he blended, rather than sticking out. He couldn't do a damn thing about the inherent strangeness of wearing gloves in summertime and refusing to take them off in company, but he could otherwise keep his head down. His fears revolved heavily around drawing too much attention to himself, even if he didn't need to hide so deeply anymore. He would always be uncomfortable with drawing the eye.
He fully expected to be left to his own devices with the squarish zombies, and for a few solitary minutes he did nothing but revel in the warm wash of nostalgia. He had dragged his siblings to arcades more than once when they were children, tried to teach his sisters how to properly operate a lightgun, reveled in defeating his brothers at the Phantom Menace podracing game. They hated to lose to their little brother, and he loved to win, usually ending in somebody running crying to mum. Not him, obviously.
Who knew how he would have reacted to the idea that his description was being circulated by the girls at the edge of town as potential trade. What did happen was a creeping sensation at the back of his neck as a shape passed into his line of sight.
She didn't startle him, quite, but he did give her a few solid moments to say something, or move away. He only gave in after a sizable pause, punctuated by distorted groans in poor, crackly quality. "Hello," he said, and glanced her way. She wasn't the person he had thought she might be, and he relaxed a little. Not completely, though. "Want to play? I could use a partner." The other lightgun waited in its holster.