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He's standing out on the porch, having heard the loudest, most disgusting laugh. Moments like these remind him that he's supposed to be packed up and ready to move out by the end of the week (someone help him, it's already Wednesday...).
Something just holds him back.
"Heard it, too?"
He doesn't have to turn--he recognizes that hoarse drawl. He would anywhere. So, that's how he knows he doesn't have to nod in order for the owner of that voice to understand him.
"Those crazy..." A pause. He's been trying to give up the curse words. It's a noble cause, he supposes. "...humans have no idea what they're going up against." It's one of those things that just has him wondering why, asking questions in a constant circle, following an endless trail of--
"Aren't you hot?"
His hands subconsciously tighten on his handgun. While the weather is literally steaming, he doesn't want to untie his sweater from his shoulders, or change out of his turtleneck, or step out of his jeans...his body screams against it.
"Careful when you walk out there after them. You'll need a scarf, in this weather." David smirks at him, running his fingers through that uneven, disheveled blonde hair of his. Before he turns away, David's hand somehow gets caught in his. He isn't one for physical contact, he knows, because he's always getting beat down. But he doesn't pull away.
"Go on. You can do it."