[ Stopping by the safehouse is something that Maine rarely does. He doesn't see much point. He's not a friendly person, and he's not good at explaining shit. Besides, any familiar faces from his universe probably wouldn't be thrilled to see him. Weird timelines are a hell of a thing. However, Maine has been trying to be more helpful lately. Trying to reach out. To connect. It's hit-or-miss at the best of times, but he still tries. What else is he going to do?
It's his newfound urge to try that brings him to the safehouse. He comes bearing gifts: one bag of groceries and another of liquor — too weak for him, but it should be strong enough for others. His arrival in the kitchen is hard to miss; his footfalls are heavy, and he has to duck down just to get through the door. When he straightens up, he sees a woman he doesn't recognize digging through the alcohol. Could be a new arrival. Could be someone who just needs a fucking drink. Either way, Maine says, ]
Got more.
[ He wordlessly indicates one of the (very large, very full) bags in his arms. ]
safehouse
It's his newfound urge to try that brings him to the safehouse. He comes bearing gifts: one bag of groceries and another of liquor — too weak for him, but it should be strong enough for others. His arrival in the kitchen is hard to miss; his footfalls are heavy, and he has to duck down just to get through the door. When he straightens up, he sees a woman he doesn't recognize digging through the alcohol. Could be a new arrival. Could be someone who just needs a fucking drink. Either way, Maine says, ]
Got more.
[ He wordlessly indicates one of the (very large, very full) bags in his arms. ]