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He frowned a little, folding thick arms behind his head, revealing yet more ink down his obliques. "It isn't laziness," he began, quietly, as if a calm tone would somehow be more convincing than any other. "It's.. darwinism. You know. Evolution. We got the whole human race to think about and the weak and sick don't have a place here. If I got sick- like he is- I'd like to think there'd be food for me, but we both know-" he paused. "Well. That's just not the world we live in."

He looked down at him, quirking a brow upward. "You've been making trouble for a long time, eh? Doesn't it get tiring?"

Isiah tilted his head a little bit. The frog might have had some moves- but he didn't know what he was dealing with.

Old instincts kicked in.
He didn't want the boy to think Isiah wasn't in control. Or the frog to think he wouldn't break him in half, if he had to. "If I were you, dipshit," he hissed. "I'd be real careful about pissing someone like me off. You're just as lonely as this ********," he tilted his head towards Tsurai. "And I don't doubt for a second you're next on the list to be 'let go'." In terms of food, of course.

He stood slowly to exert his height over the other man, even at the distance they had. "And me after you," he punctuated, snorting once.

Isiah's eye twitched a little. "******** me for having a little compassion. I like to temper justice with mercy, ********. I'm trying to talk some sense into your stupid little head, but I guess all that's in there is cheese and froglegs, huh?"

He quirked a brow upward, as if issuing a challenge- he almost wanted to see if there'd be a response, a retort, but most pointedly a physical attack. Little arrogant ******** like him- well.. he loved to put them in their place.

Isiah spread out his shoulders- he was a lot bigger all around than the relatively slender, newly dubbed frog. "I don't have to hide behind s**t, unlike you, sunglasses." He looked back toward the vault door. "It's pointless, anyway. We're running out of food and water."

He turned his face away from Q. He was done talking to him. He looked down to Tsurai. "So if we're gonna leave... now's the time. We gotta have supplies and they aren't going to be available much longer."

Isiah protested- verbally, at first, then physically. It wasn't hard for him to bowl over a few hungry, noodly men- and it wasn't hard for him to steal the duffel bag of stolen goods from Dan's grips who watched in horror, almost frozen. Isiah merely had to set his jaw, green eyes wide open and fierce. He squinted when faced with the almost white-intense sunlight pouring in through the vault door, raising his middle finger to the rest of the congregation before pulling himself up the ladder one armed out into the open.

He groaned as his eyes adjusted to the light, the yelling and screeching of the other members of the vault becoming strangely muted as he took just a few steps away.

He remembered the street- though there were no signs. The buildings remained in poor repair, shells of their former selves. The trees- grass- shrubbery in the median of what had once been a busy street- was gone. Not even a twisted root or dry blade remained. Everything that was once alive was not just dead, but gone...

Every few seconds a sharp wind tore through the streets, kicking up dust and gravel, the only relief from searing heat. He looked back toward the vault. Leaving without his jacket was a bad decision. He was going to burn like a lobster.

He turned back toward Tsurai, who had by then all ready begun to walk. He probed his memory.. how long had it been? Not too long to remember. If the buildings were still standing- standing being a kind way to put it- maybe there was some canned food, somewhere. The pub, maybe.

"Kid," he began. "Slow up."

Isiah grunted. "We gotta make some kind of a plan before we rush off. There's an eatery-" pub. "Up the street. Might be able to find some more food and water there. We'll need it." He paused for a moment, following Tsurai's eyes back to the wolfman, staring at him for a long brief moment. He felt a strange mixture of pity and distaste for him, but said nothing for the time being. He turned away. He wouldn't help the ******** unless he asked for it, and he had no interest in any more charity.

"Canned food, dipshit," Isiah quipped back quickly. "Dives like that don't keep things fresh. Might be some bottled water, too." Or beer. Isiah had thought for maybe a brief second that booze would be barterable, should the opportunity come up down the line. But more importantly, he hadn't had a beer since he went sprinting out of the pub and irish blood went wanting without beer. "It'd be pretty stupid not to check it out, at least." He squinted against the bright white sunlight, turning back to glance at the hybrid curled up on the ground. He felt a pang of guilt, but struggled to ignore it. He sure wouldn't stop for you, he murmured inwardly. If it was you on the ground he'd all ready be gone.

He turned back to Tsurai, rolling his shoulders and then his neck, quirking a brow upward. "You game?"

Isiah rolled his eyes dramatically and turned away from Q, ignoring him for now. Unless he outright asked for help, he wouldn't offer it. Q wasn't like Tsurai. He had some age and experience in his bones, two things Tsurai didn't. To top it off, he was obviously in need of help in this situation and he chose not to ask for it- arrogance on his part, and a great mistake.

He adjusted the duffel over his shoulder, starting toward where he remembered the pub stood. It was fuzzy, at best- occasionally he found himself shutting his eyes to remember the familiar landmarks, the signs, the hobos that would lurk on familiar corners. What should have taken a few minutes took the better part of an hour. Isiah stared at the decrepit building for a moment, with no small bit of sadness. It had been a home for the last few years before the fallout, and it almost pained him to see it in such poor shape. He reached forward to pull the door off of it's last hinge- it released easily as if it weren't hinged at all, clattering to the ground beside him. "Sorry," he grumbled, as if to apologize for the noise to Tsurai before ducking under the doorway and heading inside.

The windows had been blasted out, just like in every other building- glass lined the floor in wind-melded piles, bits of tables, chairs and barstools strewn around similarly. He stepped over the rubble and walked toward the back of the pub, toward the bar. Surprisingly, two of the shelves were completely intact and standing- though few bottles lined them. The others had smashed to the floor on impact. "Go check the kitchen," he ordered, glancing toward the swinging doors at the end of the bar. He needed to scope out what survived and if it was worth carrying, and he didn't necessarily want the boy to know about it- especially if he was a drinker.