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Isiah grunted. "It's not just the betrayal," he huffed. He turned his head away, pulling his knees up in turn, resting his thick arms on his knees, turning his face down to rest his eyes on his forearm. "You don't understand," he grunted.

Isiah was in no way willing to go back to that way of life. Sure, at first it had been exciting and frightening all at once, fast paced and different from his former, slow way of life. But it was just a different closet to hide in for him- whatever freedom he'd achieved was nullified by having to hide that part of himself. During that time he'd developed such a hyper masculinity that nobody questioned him- but the facade was so stressful that it took a toll on all other parts of his life.

Not to mention he felt like he'd grown out of it, since then. He no longer believed in Denzien dogma. He didn't believe in survival of the fittest the same way they did, or the propagation via breeding between thereof. He wasn't sure violence was the best way to solve problems, even if it was in his best interest to think so- if his experience had taught him anything, the manipulative, the clever, the smartest, fastest and most ruthless got the furthest and the most. Physical strength and even battle strategy didn't mean much when in the face of brute brain power.

The tattoo on the back of his head began to pulse dull with pain, his hand unfolding to rise to stroke along the curling hair there, eyes rolling shut tight against his arm. "I can't go back to that," he hissed. "I don't have it in me. I'm not young anymore."

He lifted his head from his arm, his head shaking slightly as he did so, turning over to look at the other. His eyes were dark and empty, face a slate of badly hidden inner turmoil, brow furrowed downward. He lost his ability to hide his emotions after a few beers- six warm ones being no exception.

"Don't make assumptions about me and him," he hissed. "You weren't there. There's no way you could know." He turned his head away again, unfolding his legs to let them lie flat on the ground.

Isiah turned back to him, eyes bright with anger. "I live with it every day. You don't understand. I'm not going to stay here with... him. I can't." He rubbed his face with his hands, tilting his head back. He turned his head away, parting hair to give Q a look at the ink that was hidden beneath. "They made me carry that, all these years... You don't think he'll make me carry more now?"

He sighed, shaking his head back and forth violently. The booze was starting to hit him. "God.. I wish I could just peel it off.."

Isiah sighed, jaw tightening. He didn't say a word, grinding his teeth, turning his eyes away. "I don't doubt you've seen your share," he hissed. "But trust me when I tell you, you don't. Whatever happened to you can't be like what they did to me, what they did to Diallo." He didn't elaborate on who that was. He didn't want to.

He turned his head back, quirking a brow upward. "Why the hell do you care, anyway?"

Isiah quirked an eyebrow upward, snorting in disbelief. "If we're such fabulous partners," he hissed. "Why'd you try to kill my dog?! Partners respect each other. I don't think we have that." He turned his head away. "You'd do fine here by yourself, just like you did in the vault."

"You didn't answer my question," he huffed. "As a partner you would have respected my decision." He was just happy to get away from their previous conversation. Besides, the beer was starting to make him sleepy. He slid down the wall a little, yawning behind his hand, crossing his legs over the knee.

Isiah snorted. "If you think I'm drunk now-" he muttered, letting him walk away before pulling the duffel toward him. He 'fluffed' it before laying his head down, pulling his arm over his eyes, sighing before falling into a fitful sleep.

Kaegan reappeared from his 'home', a few empty milk jugs in hand before stopping by the well, resettling his feet. "Sorry," he began quietly, as if he was interrupting. He reached over to grab onto the rope, tying the jug to it with a considerable weight inside so it'd go under water before lowering it with a yawn.

Kaegan let the rope drop, the jug sinking into to water, bubbles of air rising as it did so. He quirked a brow upward as the other asked him the quick question, turning his head to face him.

"I was," he said curtly. "A long time ago, I was." He waited another moment before retrieving the first jug upward, hand over hand on the rope, setting it down by his bare feet before tying the second, lowering it in turn. Kaegan's age shown most in his face, creases lining the corners of his eyes and mouth, skin dark and leathery from too much sun. He was wearing a raggety tee shirt, it's print long since cracked and faded, a marine's tattoo donning his left bicep. He stood at about 6'1", wide shouldered and thick necked, square jaw set tightly as he let the second jug sink into the well below.

He was fit, for his age, though it was clear that ten years ago he had a lot more definition. His knuckles were worn, scars dotted all over his body- anywhere there was skin, there was a scar, the remainder of his dermis rough from sun damage. He had light grey eyes, often forcing him to squint in the sunlight- obviously that wasn't a problem right now. He pulled up the second jug with relative ease, setting it down in turn.