Ned nods along with her explanation, wonders silently if this might be the key to Kenzi's bright, hopeful disposition. She knows there are people she loves and who love her and miss her, waiting for her in her old life.
His look of surprise returns again for Kenzi's story. Her little slip about lifting wallets definitely earns a couple startled blinks, but he takes it in his stride, all things considered. Maybe he's starting to build up a tolerance for surprising reveals about peoples' pasts, in this place. Pickpocketing isn't bad at all, compared with psychic assassin brainwashed by the dystopian government or 100% genuine 1920s mobster. It does make him curious - was she one of those people who stole for the thrill of it, or out of necessity, or some combination of the two. Certainly, it puts her taking some hand lotion from his room in a completely different perspective. Maybe it's something she can't even help.
And really, who would he be to judge her for a little thievery? He's a murderer. That ranks considerably higher on the hierarchy of sins.
Then Kenzi continues with the story and a crease forms between Ned's brows. He's pretty sure handling means killing or at least severely beating in this instance, but if they guy slipped something in Kenzi's drink, as far as Ned's concerned he richly fucking deserved it. Ned is starting to like the sound of this roommate, weird experimental enthusiastic noises and all.
"That's terrifying," Ned says, quietly. For once, Kenzi isn't the one doing that intense staring thing she does, but evading eye contact. He doesn't imagine it's the kind of story she shares lightly, and he doesn't treat it like that. He's been in that kind of situation before - not the exact details, but there are shared and analogous elements: being helpless, being in terror for his life, needing to be rescued by someone stronger who can lift him (proverbially, not literally) over their amazonian shoulder. Ned wonders if Kenzi heard about any of that. It's impossible to know who has said what to whom, and he knows that gossip travels in a place as small as this.
He also recognizes that pattern of thought which leads her to blame the situation implicitly not on the douchebag but on her 'rookie mistake' of taking the drink in the first place. So much easier to recognize the wrongness of that logic, in someone who isn't himself. He understands what's behind it, but he doesn't bring it up, for now. Not when Kenzi's body language has gone uncharacteristically vulnerable like that.
"Nothing like having big scary friends, right?" He means it, too. Ned isn't used to the idea of big scary friends who have his back. It's a novelty, and an utterly wonderful one, to him. More seriously, he adds, "I'm glad she was there." Because a world with a hurt Kenzi or a murdered Kenzi is depressing to contemplate.
"She sounds awesome, what's her name?"
Not a word about the stealing. He'd heard her, and he's sure she saw him taking in the information, but he's not going to comment on it, unless she brings it up again.
no subject
His look of surprise returns again for Kenzi's story. Her little slip about lifting wallets definitely earns a couple startled blinks, but he takes it in his stride, all things considered. Maybe he's starting to build up a tolerance for surprising reveals about peoples' pasts, in this place. Pickpocketing isn't bad at all, compared with psychic assassin brainwashed by the dystopian government or 100% genuine 1920s mobster. It does make him curious - was she one of those people who stole for the thrill of it, or out of necessity, or some combination of the two. Certainly, it puts her taking some hand lotion from his room in a completely different perspective. Maybe it's something she can't even help.
And really, who would he be to judge her for a little thievery? He's a murderer. That ranks considerably higher on the hierarchy of sins.
Then Kenzi continues with the story and a crease forms between Ned's brows. He's pretty sure handling means killing or at least severely beating in this instance, but if they guy slipped something in Kenzi's drink, as far as Ned's concerned he richly fucking deserved it. Ned is starting to like the sound of this roommate, weird experimental enthusiastic noises and all.
"That's terrifying," Ned says, quietly. For once, Kenzi isn't the one doing that intense staring thing she does, but evading eye contact. He doesn't imagine it's the kind of story she shares lightly, and he doesn't treat it like that. He's been in that kind of situation before - not the exact details, but there are shared and analogous elements: being helpless, being in terror for his life, needing to be rescued by someone stronger who can lift him (proverbially, not literally) over their amazonian shoulder. Ned wonders if Kenzi heard about any of that. It's impossible to know who has said what to whom, and he knows that gossip travels in a place as small as this.
He also recognizes that pattern of thought which leads her to blame the situation implicitly not on the douchebag but on her 'rookie mistake' of taking the drink in the first place. So much easier to recognize the wrongness of that logic, in someone who isn't himself. He understands what's behind it, but he doesn't bring it up, for now. Not when Kenzi's body language has gone uncharacteristically vulnerable like that.
"Nothing like having big scary friends, right?" He means it, too. Ned isn't used to the idea of big scary friends who have his back. It's a novelty, and an utterly wonderful one, to him. More seriously, he adds, "I'm glad she was there." Because a world with a hurt Kenzi or a murdered Kenzi is depressing to contemplate.
"She sounds awesome, what's her name?"
Not a word about the stealing. He'd heard her, and he's sure she saw him taking in the information, but he's not going to comment on it, unless she brings it up again.