How embarassing.

Rocket was still there. Louis had been uncomfortable from the start, walking from the closed library with the other man, but now that they were coming closer and closer to the jailhouse, his nerves were at their limits. Each flutter of birds taking flight and rumble of distant cars made him flinch, every step wondering if this man was an enemy, following him back to the Hideout. Surely he wouldn't trace Louis this far, would he? He must turn off somewhere. Street after residential street passed, and still Rocket didn't turn away. There were only so many houses left down this road...

%Can you see Rocket's color or is it white?

((Yeah, I can))

The redhead stops beside him and nods, then shrugs, trying to look anywhere but Rocket/the rest of the town/the Hideout, which only leaves the sky and his feet: he decides that the sky is a little impractical and settles for studying his cowboy boots in great detail. For a few minutes he just stood there, waiting for Rocket to take his cue to leave and go home to whatever house-sans-cells he lived in.

%Good. Kiwi can't see it.

More and more he considered just walking off, trying to lead the other away from his real home, walking into some apartment and waiting for him to leave. That was risky, though. Did he already know what was in here? Hopefully the white spots of his eyes weren't that conspicuous. Hell, even Amelia missed them for two months, maybe this guy didn't see them at all. Louis shuffled his feet a bit and cleared his throat, one hand rooted in the pocket of his Notre Dame hoodie.

((... I'm really considering having Louis leave and come back. They they'd have to meet AGAIN.))

%You could have Louis come in, and Rocket could be standing right there...

No password was entered, for one reason or another: it did sound like a faint knock pattern was entered on the doorframe before the iron portal was shoved open. Louis was stationed on the other side of the door, holding out the half-size shillelagh from the bottom of his duffel bag, intent on fending off the fake intruder who had somehow just walked easily into the Hideout without a fight. Louis wasn't a very smart man.

The look on Louis's face intensified into some mix between suspicion and confusion. Not a very bright, or industrious intruder. Why was he just standing there like an idiot, staring into space? The man took a step forward, and then another, cudgel gripped in both hands and held far out from his body. He reeled it back, ready to swing it at the back of the other's head. However, this tilted the duffel bag across his shoulders, and a small book tumbled from the open top, clattering against his boot, and then the floor. Louis cringed.

Louis blinked once, then twice, looking around at the place. He gestured at himself, then at Rocket, letting the cudgel fall to his side (though keeping a white-knuckled grip on it). His mouth opened as if he was planning on saying something, but he decided not to and just gave Rocket a confused look. God, he hoped he didn't have to knock this guy's lights out. That wouldn't be very good. The first person he'd talked to in months, and he had to beat him up and leave him in a trash can some miles out of the city?

Louis flinched, backing away from the other when his hands set down on his shoulders, pushing the offending palms off his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow and nodded, as if answering the question of a slow child... then tilted his head and pointed at Rocket. It hadn't really occurred to Louis that the other man could be the same has he was. It was entirely possible that he had missed the other, what with how hard he tried to stay alone at all times on every day.

Louis glanced around uncomfortably, trying not to answer the question. Of course, if Rocket had paid attention to his accent it should already be obvious, atop the red hair and freckles.

%Take your life, plot it out in black and white.... I love that song. (From your signature...)

The Irishman nodded, turning to pick up his bag and return the cudgel. Under his breath, and almost completely inaudibly, he mumbled his parent star to the other man.

"Mira," he says, almost at a normal speaking tone (which is loud and booming as far as his voice goes. Immediately the volume shrank back down to a whisper-quiet level. "A."

Louis stared down at his bag for quite a while before sighing gently and shrugging his shoulder. It would have been paradise, actually, and it had been before, but then he lost it all in one fell swoop. Kind of pathetic, really, how his idea of happy was tied to only one person in the whole world.

A sour look crossed Louis's face, and he turned away from the other, picking up his duffel bag with one hand. His gaze bored into the wall. After a few seconds he lifted his left hand and examined it.

A silver ring caught the light for just a moment before he placed the hand back inside his pocket.

This kid was starting to get on his nerves. Louis's lips thinned as he turned away from Rocket and headed down the hall. Rib-poking was not his favorite thing in the world.