[ at first glance, there is nothing remarkable about charlie. there's the shorn head, of course, but then all newcomers sport that particular haircut. he moves around the safehouse quietly, asking questions in a polite tone and manner, trying not to get into anyone's way. he smiles at people.

touch him, though, and the impression becomes a different one. whether it's the slight brush of skin against skin as you reach for the same thing on the table, whether it's accidental in a crowd or the shake of a hand because charlie's put his out when he's introduced himself - instead of anything quiet, there's an overwhelming surge of sadness and guilt, of loss. of complete and utter hopelessness. underneath it, there's still steel —and responsibility.

it'll last only for a moment before charlie realises what's happening and snags his hand back or ends the touch in some other way. ]

I'm sorry. [ he tries for another smile, but it'll now look frayed around the edges. ]

[ there's a festival and charlie visits. this is his second time on —well, not a new planet, exactly, because this is still earth, but in a new environment, in a new culture. at least this time, he already knows not to walk into traffic, that it won't stop for him as it did on rhodia.

he's wide-eyed at the festival, glancing at every stand, taking it all in.

there are so many options, so many choices. more than once, charlie turns to someone, be it a stranger or someone he's seen before, and asks: ] What would you recommend?

How do I use Google on this?