[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 8pt; line-height: 1.35; padding: 4px;"]Link had never worn wariness well, had always thought there was a marked difference between caution and suspicion. Treading lightly shared traits with treading fearfully, true, but even predators moved with care. It wasn't that Link was a predator — far from it, more lemming than lion — but he had never considered himself scared. He didn't fear the abstract, nor did he fear the tangible. People were capable of terrible things, but that didn't mean he had to mistrust every face he encountered, even if they were scarred, tattooed and wielding a bat. The Badlands had promised to attract danger, oddities and dangerous oddities alike; if he hadn't been prepared to look potential killers in the eye and trust them not to take him as a victim, he wouldn't have attempted to the day he arrived— wouldn't have arrived at all. As with many here, though, Santos didn't seem angry to Link. Tired, maybe, and broken, damaged by things Link couldn't see, but not so unhinged that he felt vulnerable without a weapon. Maybe one day that would change. For now, he sought to see the best in people. His sister had always found it admirable.
He opened his mouth to speak — Santos beat him to it and he smiled, bashful but understanding. His eyes lingered, briefly, on the other man's face, before flitting to his tense shoulders, his bat, and away to Creed as she mounted the incline to join them. "He wants to join," he elaborated, thumbing at the thin fabric of his jacket. With the man's name a mystery, however, Link could offer little else to Creed, so he turned back to Santos. Taller and broader than him, dark hair where his was pale and eyes warm where his were like the winter sea. Bruised, too, as though he'd been in a fight. Link wasn't sure if it was for him to know."I'm Link," he eventually added into the quiet, hoping it'd encourage an introduction in turn.
He opened his mouth to speak — Santos beat him to it and he smiled, bashful but understanding. His eyes lingered, briefly, on the other man's face, before flitting to his tense shoulders, his bat, and away to Creed as she mounted the incline to join them. "He wants to join," he elaborated, thumbing at the thin fabric of his jacket. With the man's name a mystery, however, Link could offer little else to Creed, so he turned back to Santos. Taller and broader than him, dark hair where his was pale and eyes warm where his were like the winter sea. Bruised, too, as though he'd been in a fight. Link wasn't sure if it was for him to know."I'm Link," he eventually added into the quiet, hoping it'd encourage an introduction in turn.