"Ah," says Rush, uncertain as to how to best respond to that. He watches her and arranges his features into what he is certain conveys nothing but careful neutrality as the child climbs to the ground, the distance between them doubtless deliberate on her part.

'Different' has a great deal of connotations given the current setting, though given her state of articulacy and cooperation, he is not entirely sure of what those connotations may be without first accumulating more data. Her wariness regarding him is understandable, possibly even commendable given the child's perspective.

Slowly, he rises.

"I'd suggest higher ground," he says evenly, tone steady despite the urgency of their joint situation, because he does not swear at children, no matter how bizarre or off-putting he finds them, not that he's ever established a behavioral metric regarding children as his interactions with them as a group have been so infrequent and unremarkable that he has begun questioning the wisdom of interacting with one now outside of any kind of limited capacity.

Certain social expectations would dictate a more typical exchange as a display of trust. Rush sighs. He raises his free hand to his chest to indicate himself.

"Nicholas," he says. "Nick."

That idea of an introduction was pure shite. He doesn't call himself Nick. No one calls him Nick. He doubts anyone save Durant is even aware he has a first name.