Firefly Glen We'll be alright if you don't ask me to stay

Ah, there it was, that physical manifest of tension. Charon. The shock of bespeckled white was hard to miss as he emerged from wherever he had been tucked away but it was in Dirge's belief that the tension he felt in the air was the emotion that radiated off of him. He watched the sweep of the leader's gaze hover over them, his mood well written across scarred features that seemed only to underline the churlish, caustic tongue and its words.

It was Speedy who seemed to move first, her discomfort not unlike the discomfort Dirge felt blooming within. Hydra flanked her to one side and Revui to the next, leaving him at first to bring in the rear until he had shifted more to align himself with Hydra. If there was resolute safety in numbers, this would have been it, but given the season and the ever taut chords waiting to be plucked, it may as well have been the catalyst.

But Hydra, as ever as of late, seemed to have words to supplicate and guide the situation; he listened half-heartedly as his gaze picked over their surroundings, and settled in on the closeness and posturing of Revui instead. A frown threatened to crease his face as he tried to pluck out the words the boy said, but over Hydra he did not hear them. He knew her siblings were young, but they were not stupid, and he too remembered what it was to wonder over a budding lust; perhaps it was best he kept an eye on him for just a moment.

That moment passed swiftly—Hydra was speaking of him now. His attention shifted and his discomfort bloomed into full dismay. He was the distraction piece, apparently, the unwitting pawn in whatever game she was playing. The concept was not lost on him here either and his gaze left Hydra for that of Charon's in wait of a reaction.