The kid's got spunk, he'll give him that. Numbers let out a humorless snort, smiling lightly--though, because the smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, it feels more akin to how chimpanzees might bare their teeth. The questions throw him off a little bit--if he was genuinely trespassing, this would be a weird tactic. Numbers doesn't lower his gun, but he doesn't exactly intend on shooting a random kid--even if he is trespassing.
"One, you can call me Numbers." Because like hell he's going to give him his first name, even if it is easy enough to find out. He's going to say what he wants this kid to call him. "Two, as far as I'm aware, you're now in some fucked up suburban town called Sweetwater, USA. 'cept it's a weird 60's pastiche."
A pause.
"In my house," he emphasizes again, as if John might've missed the memo the first time. "The fuck do you mean who's body is yours?"
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"One, you can call me Numbers." Because like hell he's going to give him his first name, even if it is easy enough to find out. He's going to say what he wants this kid to call him. "Two, as far as I'm aware, you're now in some fucked up suburban town called Sweetwater, USA. 'cept it's a weird 60's pastiche."
A pause.
"In my house," he emphasizes again, as if John might've missed the memo the first time. "The fuck do you mean who's body is yours?"