"We tried to be better, but we aren't. I don't think anyone could last more than a week here if they weren't willing to do bad things." - Alba Reyes

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dmboogie
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A Delicate Machine
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Things couldn't ever stay simple for long, could they? Well, whoever was knocking clearly had a compelling reason to do so, and Harold felt obligated to at least hear them out. "Dunno who this is, but they know we're here. If they wanted to catch us by surprise, they coulda just waited outside until we left. Only one door, after all," Harold muttered quietly to Ty. 'Catch us by surprise' was a rather diplomatic way to word 'shoot us and steal our bags', but Harold preferred to avoid assuming the worst of strangers.

There was a fine line between tentative trust and willfully putting blinders on yourself, though. Might not be the nicest thing to do, but you had to take precautions to protect yourself and the people you care for. Harold picked up Ty's sword, weighing it in his hands. He didn't have a clue how to actually use it in a fight, and he'd honestly probably be better off just using his fists, but image was what mattered here. He didn't want to think that he was just throwing his weight and imposing appearance around, but that was exactly what he was doing. Hopefully all in the service of peace.

It was weird how simply designating something a weapon was enough to completely change your perception of it, though. You can stab someone with a cooking knife, bash a head in with a dumbbell, but that wasn't their purpose. Harold shuddered. Even if it was ultimately self defense, he didn't want anyone's deaths on his conscience. He couldn't let the fact that he was armed bias his planning.

"Hey there," Harold called at their mysterious visitor. "Feel free to come in, but for everyone's safety, please check any weapons at the door. We don't want a fight, alright?" He kept Ty's sword at his side. Obviously present, but not actively threatening.
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Thirteen Steps · Group Therapy