Nate
"I'd think the church." Nate hums, more to himself than as a genuine suggestion. Surely there's better minds than him working on it, minds that have already considered and looked into such an obvious place. "Just let me know when someone figures it out, eh? We'll do it right this time." He laughs, reaching out with a fake arm to rearrange something blindly. There's a long stretch of silence, Nate working his jaw before letting his eyes roll up to take in Isla. "I know I can count on you." He offers, staring with an intense focus at her face, making sure his words sink in fully. Once he's sure, whatever metric he'd needed met in his head, he pushes himself upright again. "If you don't want me to put you to work, you better get out of here." He warns with a laugh, stepping back to start going over his supplies.
Do you read fuck-up in my walk?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Do you see fuck-up on my face?
Do I mean anything at all?
