“Hm,” is all The Hound says, not quite a harrumph but certainly not a full agreement either. They watch the sword fold into a pocketknife with some interest, and though they are admittedly curious as to how exactly that even works they don’t ask - they worry she might actually answer, if they do.
“Sure,” they agree instead, offering her another easy smile. It’s an expression too practiced to be fully true, though something of the person beneath shines through when they jerk their head towards the hole in the roof and allow it to tilt a little more crooked. “Right after you patch the hole you made in the roof.”
Their eyes squint just slightly behind their shades, amusement radiating off them in waves as they settle back against their door with their arms crossed, well out of the radius of the rain dripping through the hole in the roof. “Honestly, some people just don’t have any respect for their vehicles. Poking holes in ‘em all willy-nilly. I would never.”
The patching doesn’t amount to much more than some duct tape slapped over the fissure, but if that isn’t the story of The Hound’s whole life they’ll eat their robot hand. They do not lift a single finger to help, and the rage on the woman’ face is practically incandescent by the time she’s through.
It’s glorious. They’ll drive her away in no time, at this rate.
The woman’s name is Freyja. The Hound takes note of it this time, locking the shape of it into their memory. They’d tossed it aside when she’d first given it, but it’s worth keeping around for as long as she insists on following them, at least.
They let themself fade into the background while she books the room, casing the lobby through nearly-closed eyes and taking note of possible escape routes. The inn isn’t terribly large, but it also isn’t exactly impenetrable. If - no, make that when - their handlers come to collect, this isn’t exactly their first choice for the kind of place they’d want to hole up in, but it’ll do for now.
They follow her back to the room without complaint, finally allowing their eyes to open more than a sliver only once they’re safely inside with the door shut and locked behind them. Freyja has stopped cold just at the end of the short hallway leading further into the room, and they wander over to see what’s got her all worked up, peering past her to give the bedroom a once-over.
It seems normal enough. There’s a bed, chair, dresser, and nightstand, so all the essentials are accounted for. They don’t see the- ah. Right. There are two of them.
They consider the conundrum in contemplative quiet for a moment, then shrug, turning and strolling into the en-suite restroom while they shuck their rain-splattered leather jacket. “That’s fine. I’ll take the chair.”
Closer to the window. Easier to cut and run if they need to. They lay the jacket carefully over the counter by the sink, then peel their gloves off and add them to the pile along with their shades. Glancing at their reflection, they frown, ruffle a hand through their hair, and then start digging through the drawers under the sink in search of some scissors.
It’s way past time for a haircut. They don’t even recognize themself right now.
