He's got a cocky sort of arrogance to him; the way he walks makes it seem like he thinks he rules the world, and he does think that, and on the island, at least, he ruled a little part of it. But this isn't the island
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"Thanks for the welcome, pal. Know of any place I could get cleaned up a bit?" He gestures at himself slightly. "The name's Sawyer. I'd offer to shake hands, but who knows what sorts of fun and entertaining tropical diseases 've picked up from that god-forsaken place."
"My name's Murphy," he replied, looking a bit curious, but amused. "Yeah. There's a bathroom right over there, but yer probably lookin' more fer somethin' like a room. Check the desk; they keep all the keys there."
"Will do," he says, strolling over to the front desk. "So, what's the story behind this place? Or is the history here a mystery--" Sawyer trails off, suddenly finding an envelope with his name on it. "Huh. Spooky."
"And the plot thickens. Well, as long as this place don't got any polar bears, people who want to lock me up in a cage and play all sorts of crazy mind games, or 'monsters', I don't give a shit about how it got here or how I got here."
"Our plane split in half in mid-air and crash-landed on an island," Sawyer shrugs, as if it happens every day. "And if that ain't strange enough for you, people started disappearin', we started hearin' strange noises in the jungle and seeing strange things and people, polar bears started appearin' out of nowhere, and then we hear that there's this other group of people livin' on the island. And they apparently didn't like trespassers, 'cause they captured a bunch of us and locked us in cages. Just my luck, I s'pose."
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