He deliberately ignored her question about what he was here to pick up, wanting to leave it to the imagination which was always provoked by a lack of certainty. Instead, he posed a question of his own and deflected the subject of conversation away from what he was here for. "Was that squeeze you getting ready to use me as a shield for bullets, or just an involuntary response from the excitement?" Once the question was posed, he turned around gracefully to face her and seemed expectant of an entertaining answer.
Whatever she decided to say, he'd just smirk and then start briskly walking into, and then through the workshop. Until eventually it seemed like they were inside an entirely different building altogether, more industrial and with absolutely no windows. It seemed like this hidden detachment of the otherwise bustling workshop had a more concerted agenda, the production of uniforms that oozed pride and reflected all the greater ambitions of a rebellion that was aiming for lofty goals.
