( just as courier had been going through the motions in the last few days, makoto had been keeping an eye on him. when not trying to extract information from their captors and their prison (trying to force blood from stone, for the most part), he's been observing those around him. his pale eyes are appraising, weighing individuals both in personal interest and how useful they may be in the long run. for this stranger... there's something about him. for the obvious: he's caught sight of dozens of scars cross-hatched across his body, telling him he's survived enough battles to know his way around one. for the less so: he moves with a competence and an alacrity that makes makoto think he's good for more than just a fight.

only foolish demons treasure strength above all. the gathering of knowledge, an iron composure, the perception of power... these were all far more important. that's why he speaks to courier instead of some other musclebound idiot.

makoto grins widely at his response. from where he sits cross-legged on his bedroll, he makes a sweeping gesture to their surroundings with one hand before replying, ) I would've thought that obvious enough even without what I just told you.

( he's either not thinking deeply enough to needle at what type of danger, or he's keeping that information to himself. the former would be a disappointment, but the latter would make him interesting. for right, now he doesn't press him on it. )

I'd say... I have three questions. ( he raises one slender index finger. ) Why us? ( another joins it, ) Why here? ( and a final third. ) And why now?

( he gestures to courier. ) What does your instinct say?