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It was like a hangover, he thought, which said a lot about what Vash's life had been like up to this point, how he'd spent evenings when he should have instead been doing his homework and prepping college essays and finishing chores but instead had found his way out the window of the current home to find a little trouble. It was the lights, mostly, too-bright on sensitive eyes that had been closed too long, the strange sterile quality of the place not helping one bit.

It smelled wrong, weird, and it set his stomach to protesting, his nose to wrinkling, as he stumbled out of his pod and into something from a sci-fi horror.

For a moment, he just stood there: assessing the situation and probing at the edges of dreams that he only half-remembered, visions that felt far away. Violence, he remembered, but that also wasn't entirely unexpected. Trouble came hand in hand with other trouble.

Still, he frowned, deeply, and it made his face (young, almost sweet) look petulant more than anything else. He wished he had a pair of sunglasses.

Slowly, he turned in place -- hands patting himself down, slow and assessing, to make sure his clothing was all in place, searching for something familiar to ground himself -- and then froze to just stare flatly at his own name on the plaque next to the door of a pod. His pod.



And his scowl deepened. Left to his own devices, he definitely would have lied and said twenty-one, and flatly ignored the disbelief on peoples' faces.

Vash's hand went, immediately, to his information on the pod -- comfortably covering up anything he might consider personal and half-turning in place to frown at Gale instead of empty air. His eyes raked over the man once, briefly, with a careful kind of indifference coming over his face. They settled finally, tightly, on the clipboard.

"You're the welcoming committee?" Except it came out skeptical, fingers dragging slowly away from the pod as he realized that Gale probably had much more information than just his age written on that clipboard. Maybe he had legal history, high school transcripts....Vash tried not to look too interested.

"You just said." Slowly, Vash rolled his shoulders and then squared them, shoving hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt and trying to look cool -- like he hadn't just spend who-knew-how-long sleeping in a pod, like his eyes weren't gummy and his mouth didn't taste like rotten eggs.

That thought was infectious. He pulled a face again, digging through soggy memories.

"Some kind of military thing." It wasn't exactly right, but it felt right. "You going to send me off to basic training?"

"What you got on the clipboard?" He thrust his chin out as he said it -- and then, just a moment later, barely a breath after, tugged one hand free in silent demand. He wanted to pore over the pages and see what little gems were in there, just how much of his background had been given away to a complete ******** stranger. Meaningfully, he wiggled his fingers.

"And where's my folder all about you? When do I get to see that?"

He wanted to be cool and indifferent, to roll his eyes and shrug it off, but something about the way Gale looked at him crept under Vash's skin, as a wash of color that started near his collar and bloomed his way up onto fair cheeks. The blush was sudden, and fierce, and only made his eyes icier and more annoyed, like somehow Gale was to blame for it and for everything else beyond that.

"You're full of s**t," he added after a moment, trying to put an edge of careless bravado behind it. He lifted his chin and managed a little sniff. "I never had a credit card."

Trust wasn't something that was likely about to happen anytime soon -- which, honestly, was probably a good thing, in Death division. In Deus at all, perhaps. But Vasily paused, at least, sucking in a frustrated breath and turning his attention away from Gale to consider all the pods, all the sleeping wannabes, all the strange tech. He hiked his shoulders up in his hoodie, somewhat protective, and set his jaw.

"Sure." But he didn't mean it. Obviously. "Do you know how long I was in that thing?"

"Ominous name." The flush lingered, still, but more faintly now: just a hint of color around the edges, and Vash struggled to ignore it, to pretend it was nothing. Maybe, just maybe, Gale hadn't even noticed. It seemed unlikely, though, considering the way his chees still prickled -- he tipped his chin up again, just a bit challenging.

"So what now? Is there some kinda instructional video, or are you just throwing me to the wolves?"

In response he offered that flat look again; unthrilled. Vash didn't know how big the division was, but he had a hunch that meant they'd have to interact more. It sounded like he had to interact with a whole bunch of people, in fact, which he wasn't entirely thrilled about.

But he didn't b***h about it. Not yet, anyway. He bit his tongue and he was a champ for doing that much. Instead he dragged his attention away, rolling out his shoulders and half-turning in place.

"No video then. Which way do I go from here?"