Knock, Knock, Knocking-- wait, no.

[itllhurtifido]

He would rather have had a group conversation, among those who went out to Country Road 17, directly after their defense of the town. However, at least a couple of members of the group had run off on their own, and he'd had to take an additional arrival into town, so he'd left it be, in favor of sleep, a shower, a bandage on his wound, and a meal.

Comments

[tendencytostart]

Other people might say 'hello,' or 'come in'! They might even go so far as to get up and answer the door. But not St. John. Oh nooo, he's far too jerkified for that.

No, the response the knocking gets is, "Ramon, the next time you forget your fucking key you can sleep in the hall." GOD, he's a sweetheart.

[itllhurtifido]

Ohhhh, here we go.

"Actually, it's John Smith. I'd like to talk to you."

[tendencytostart]

There's a large amount of noise from behind the door, sort of like someone is throwing furniture. (For the record, no one is.) The door eventually opens approximately two molecules, one light blue eye and lip-dangling cigarette visible. "Yeah?"

He is just so courteous, that St. John. Welcoming, even.

[itllhurtifido]

For a moment, John expected those noises to herald the sound of someone scrambling out of a window. ("Your normal speeder will panic and immediately pull over to the side. This is wrong. It arouses contempt in the cop-heart. Make the bastard chase you. He will follow.") But, no, apparently the boy was just surprised and needed a moment to get to the door.

"It's about what happened last night. Can I come in? I don't expect you'd want to discuss this out in the hall."