[ Stephen's not new to the strain placed on new arrivals in the first few days of their lives in a new world. He's been here for over a year, and for a good portion he'd spent the majority of those days underground with them, helping to ride out that storm and take some of the weight off of Gaby and any other operatives who'd taken responsibility for their wellbeing in that time.
It's been a while. Circumstances changed, he grew busy and then avoidant of time spent below ground and then busy again. But now the safehouse is tucked away under his own bar and with no official Morningstar presence, it seems a good time to take up his own discarded mantle for a day or two. There will be plenty of others down here to take care of them, but Stephen's very rarely anywhere else, so pulling an overnighter or three is no skin off his back. Besides, it's always a good idea to have a doctor on call, and Clarke had been right about starting to rebuild first with the people who never learned to be wary of him in a world where he wasn't himself.
So he's wandering out of the first aid room in the middle of night to heat through some of the tea he's brought with him, and there are the sounds of life. It's not surprising. It's rare anyone keeps normal hours while they're down here: bodies out of sync from the drugs, minds out of sync from the situation. He sets a pan over heat and pours in some of the cold liquid, giving whoever it is space to go about their business without his eyes on them until he hears shifting fabric and footsteps carrying them into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder, confirms it's a new arrival not a long familiar face, and: ]
Okay?
[ Just a check. Light, casual. He figures he's a recognisable enough face for most of them between the bar and his time down here even if he's not introduced himself formally, so acting the incautious host comes without second thought.
He lived down here for months not so long ago, so host isn't actually that far off. ]
safehouse
It's been a while. Circumstances changed, he grew busy and then avoidant of time spent below ground and then busy again. But now the safehouse is tucked away under his own bar and with no official Morningstar presence, it seems a good time to take up his own discarded mantle for a day or two. There will be plenty of others down here to take care of them, but Stephen's very rarely anywhere else, so pulling an overnighter or three is no skin off his back. Besides, it's always a good idea to have a doctor on call, and Clarke had been right about starting to rebuild first with the people who never learned to be wary of him in a world where he wasn't himself.
So he's wandering out of the first aid room in the middle of night to heat through some of the tea he's brought with him, and there are the sounds of life. It's not surprising. It's rare anyone keeps normal hours while they're down here: bodies out of sync from the drugs, minds out of sync from the situation. He sets a pan over heat and pours in some of the cold liquid, giving whoever it is space to go about their business without his eyes on them until he hears shifting fabric and footsteps carrying them into the kitchen. He glances over his shoulder, confirms it's a new arrival not a long familiar face, and: ]
Okay?
[ Just a check. Light, casual. He figures he's a recognisable enough face for most of them between the bar and his time down here even if he's not introduced himself formally, so acting the incautious host comes without second thought.
He lived down here for months not so long ago, so host isn't actually that far off. ]