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"Am I that bad of a liar?" he asked with a raised brow before shifting on the couch and staring up at the ceiling for a bit. yII supposed he should lighten up... but it was hard. Very hard.

"The door will only answer a few of those questions most likely. I don't think it could answer them all. As much as I want to know who I am.. I'm not ready to cross over yet," he replied without looking at the door. Aside from wanting to spend a little more time with the others, he wasn't really sure what it was that kept him back.

"Very funny," he sighed while rolling his eyes. Grinning, he glanced over at her again, "For all we know you could have been a stripper. Maybe you worked in Vegas."

"Some of the answers I seek are in the here and now as well," he said simply, "At least I think they are."

Aside from wanting to know the status of the current survivors and who might actually make it out of this alive, he did want to know where the cloaked one had gone. Maybe the guy was just biding his time, waiting to reappear. Or perhaps he was searching for some new clothes.

As bVII scooted closer, he raised an eyebrow but didn't pull away.

"It's possible. Heck, maybe they were a regular," he chuckled, "I guess about anything is possible at this point. Cleaning lady, zoo keeper, neuroscientist, fortune teller, the queen of Britain's long lost sister, whatever."

Of course, talking about it really had him wondering who or what he was. He just tried not to dwell on it too much at the moment.

It was so uncharacteristic of her to let anyone touch her, much less to touch anyone herself. The entire concept was so foreign, and yet at the same time there was a distinct familiarity in the body encircled by her arms, so much so she could swear she could picture the smell of him, her nose buried in the collar of his t-shirt. It was for this reason she let him curl his arms around her waist, lifting her onto his hip as he had the first day they had met, when he had carried both Alpha Ten and her back towards the group, and establish Team Phoenix. Even back then, despite her avid denial, it had been comforting, and sitting there on his lap now, she couldn't help but find some comfort there. Resting her head on his shoulder, she didn't flinch at the nickname that rolled easily off his tongue -- where it might have upset her before, to the point of homicidal tendencies, there wasn't anything to run from here.

"We're dead, Seven," she repeated in a low tone, as if this explained her apology, "There won't be anymore sunshine."

This wasn't Zeta Eight. Zeta Eight was cold and calculating, keeping everyone and everything at arms length. Her voice never rose beyond a certain pitch, never wavered beyond a clinical, robotic monotone. Her humor was dry, if she had any -- she didn't suffer fools, disliked unnecessary conversation, and rarely lost her temper. Zeta Eight was the product of her environment, a subconscious will to survive -- without the need to survive, there was no need for the walls she built. This... this was likely the girl before Zeta Eight. She didn't remember that girl, and she wouldn't until she accepted her death and walked through that door into the darkness, but she could guess. In death, it didn't matter why she decided to willingly throw her life away like this, in a game the reapers claimed she signed up for on her own free will. It didn't matter why she chose to systematically turning herself into a psychopath.

But if Alpha Seven was anything, he certainly wasn't one to let other people dwell in their own despair. There was a deep, distorted sigh next to her ear before she felt rather than heard the laughter begin to bubble up in his chest, threatening to escape before he'd even said anything. 'Hey sunshine. Can I buy you a drink?'

She almost laughed. Almost. She wouldn't be Zeta Eight if she laughed out loud, but she surely was on the inside. You just couldn't see it.

Lifting her head from his shoulder, the Zeta girl straightened a bit where she sat in his lap, tilting her mask up to stare at him with a distinctly flat overtone. Slowly, still keeping her balance, she leaned a little away from him, giving him another moment of an appraising look before reaching up to give him a sharp, quick punch to the chest plate, knowing very well he probably wouldn't even feel it.

"No."

Although her voice had returned to a more level state, (although mysteriously still retaining a quality of ease...) there was an obvious jest to the word, the hints of a smile no one could see curling the corners of her lips.

"It is a very good thing you are unable to consume beverages of any kind, alcoholic or otherwise."

Could anyone imagine a drunk Alpha Seven?

"The problem with you? You think too much, resulting in you sounding like an old man," She informed him before withdrawing her arm, leaning away from him and back against the couch again. She paused, tapping a finger against her gas mask in a thoughtful manner, before letting out a laugh and a shrug.

"I wonder~" She crossed one leg over the other again, shifting herself to make herself more comfortable on the couch. Hm, if only she could steal this couch with her into the darkness and keep it forever, like a Boss.

"What are you waiting for?"

A7 leaned his head back and laughed, a freeing sound that left wide open lips as she shut him down cold. So heartless, even to the end. At least she was keeping him laughing. That was his only goal, in this new place - if he could just keep laughing, keep smiling, keep making those jokes.. he wouldn't have to think about the reality of their situation. He wouldn't have to think about the end.

Of course, she had to go and say something that killed his laughter, just as he was thinking about it. He groaned loudly, and swiveled the barstool to get a good look at the group. "I've gotta go apologize to that guy. That did not go the way I was hoping." His eyes finally fell on the two, Z3 and A12, and decided he could put his big boy pants on for a minute. He picked Z8 up as if she weighed nothing, and gently set her down on his bar stool when he slid off of it. Turning his head slightly, he gave her a wink - which she would never see.

"Keep that warm for me, won't you sunshine? I'm gonna need it after I come back from being reamed." He dropped his arms from around her, and headed off to flop down beside Z3 and A12.

At first, he said nothing. Maybe Z3 just.. never wanted to talk to him again. Apologies meant little when you were dead.

After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

"So. Uh." He started, clearing his throat again as his voice scratched and broke. "Sorry for interrupting and all, but, I owe you an apology. Big time."

His eyes roamed the room for a moment, still searching for A10. She had died before him, hadn't she? Where the hell was she?

"I didn't mean to drop the scythe. And I certainly didn't mean to let a couple of girls do the job for me - especially when two of them weren't even Phoenix." A7 referred to the three ladies who had cut down the group as a couple - he was just so good at math.

He brought his hand behind his neck, and rubbed it nervously. "Well. What I'm tryin' to say here is.. I'm sorry. I ******** up. I really meant to do my job and give you back that scythe, Z3. I'm. I'm sorry."

It was hard to tell at first if Z3 ignored A12 or simply failed to notice her there, only bothering to roll his head sideways on the plush cushion when she finally opened that loathsome trap of a mouth. Truly, there was something just... grating about it, and when she dared babble words about his scythe from the chair arm, he actually seemed compelled to sit up straigher, a visible, quivering tension in his body. The once calm and rational male remained silent for a long few seconds of just looking at her, looking through her... and then he actually laughed, a single, soft, venomous choke of a sound.

"Better?" he echoed, so quiet and deadly that it was just disturbing, but each breath raised his volume the tiniest bit as he verged on tangible hysteria. "Oh, but of course this is better! I see you're clever enough to realize I had every intention of triggering mass indiscriminate slaughter of myself and my squad, because oh yes, God yes, that room was just too cramped and I was eager to see what death and dismemberment felt like at the hands of some psychotic ape wielding my own damn weapon!"

Trailing off for just a moment to suck in his breath, his whole body was shaking within its confines. Hands clenched, he seemed quite ready to either violently shove the woman off her little arm-rest or strangle her then and there... but, for better or for worse, A7 interrupted the conversation at that point, pulling Z3's attentions towards something completely different.

And thankfully (for her would've-been-'victim', anyway), said something seemed to immediately revert him back to that previous state of defeated apathy, drawing in a thin, uneven sigh and just... slouching back against the cushions again to try and not look the guy in his face.

"... Yes, you should be sorry and you did '******** up'," he mumbled almost too quietly to hear, no power left in his tone. It just seemed so pathetic of him now, acting out all the frustration, the misery, the selfish anger and regret he'd never shown a scratch of before. Even without the door, it felt like he was losing his grip of himself as Zeta Three.

"But..." Always a but. He felt like he hated that word and he hated himself for saying it. Why was he so damned weak? Had he been as alone as he felt, he probably could have cried right then-- and maybe it even showed. "... Apologies are moot now. It's over. We're all dead. There is no point to anything."

"Ah... So you wish to know who made it through the week," She would stroke her chin in a thoughtful manner, but the gas mask prevented it. Instead, she looked as another person showed up in the room; the task they had been sent to do must be of a larger scale than the one she died in. Part of her wanted to know what it was, but she didn't feel motivated enough to ask; the couch was comfy.

"Bets? Ohh, I like the sound of that," She grinned before pausing, giving a shrug, "I have nothing to bet with though. Ah, how about this? I stop calling you old man if you win a bet against me."

"Hm, what do you have to offer? Let's see..." She eyed Gamma Two, clearly amused with the fact that he was actually playing along. Sure, it was his idea to begin with, but he had the humor of an old man. She had expected him to grumble at her for suggesting it, or something equally boring. Of course, she had no idea what she wanted from him... Its not like any material possessions will actually be useful now.

"You stop being an old man," She finally stated, grinning behind her mask as she straightened up, "If I win - and I will - stop being an old man and act your age... Whatever your age is anyway. I'm going to assume 20 because 20 is a nice number. Do we have a deal?"