"I'm bored." Con groaned out, laying on Coyote's thigh, who seemed indifferent. Too preoccupied with spinning the barrel of his gun again and again. But, all things considered, he did give Con more time than the rest of the Killer 7 combined in talking to him.
"That'll happen, kid." Coyote replied, cocking the gun and pointing it at no one. He stopped after three thrusts of the gun, with nothing to shoot at, sighing, throwing the safety back on, and sliding it into the top of his pants, for the time being.
"C'mon – there's gotta be something we can do." Con grabbed hold of Coyote's leg now, pushing himself up, trying to get up to eye level. He wouldn't be actually able to see Coyote's eyes, but it called attention to him, and he wanted to do something that wasn't 'sit around and watch Coyote fiddle with his gun'.
"Until Garcian – Emir – gives us a place to be? Not a chance in hell," The puerto Rican said, with a low, dark chuckle. To be honest, he'd go stir crazy too, in…here, whatever here really was. Coyote didn't like to think about it. It'd be pointless. Just riling himself up and going through another non-stop session of emptying his gun, reloading, emptying, reloading, with only walls and what occasionally felt like buildings to put a bullet into.
"Fuuuuck, man, I don't wanna wait that long! I miss watching Kamen Rider!" Con whined a bit. So attached to his superheroes.
"Con, you can't watch TV." Coyote said, blunt.
"I like to listen to it." Con said, undeterred. He missed Kamen Rider, and Kikaider, and the Handsome Men, and all the Super Sentai shows. Missed it more than pulling off a job. Or burning a trail through a theme park while hunting down a target. Fun as finding and shooting were – and they were a lot of fun – Kikaider was better.
"Why don't you go play around with your gun, Con?" Coyote kept on, in one of his rare displays of patience. Which Con was usually the only witness to. Garcian got to see it here and there. Dan had never been witness to it, and never would, not in life, and certainly not in death.
"Already did. It's boring to do stuff by myself. C'mon! You and me, let's find something to do!" Con gripped hard at Coyote's dark arm. Another little privilege the boy got away with. Just a bit short of being as aggressive as the Hellion – that's what they said about Coyote. He didn't like to think about that, either. Fuckers deigned that asshole Dan to not only be in Coyote's league, but above it? Cocky bastard didn't deserve so much as a word before you shot him. Silent and indifferent. That would be the perfect way to kill Dan. The Irishman had a way of getting wound up when he couldn't bait someone into having all their fuses blown.
"Fine," Coyote relented, rocking up and onto his feet. It's not like he had anything better than to give the kid some company. "What is there to even do here…?" He growled out, walking towards nowhere as Con hung at his side.
Con didn't answer the question Coyote had asked. It was redundant. Everyone in the Killer 7 knew the answer to it. They had to make their own kind of entertainment, while in a world not on Earth.
The small blind boy simply decided to jump to a different subject.
"How long's it been, since he went to the hotel again, Coyote?" Con asked, 'looking' up, head tilted back while he still hung tightly to Coyote.
"Tch… fuck, 4, 5 years? I don't fucking know." Their feet still pressing forward, moving across a ground of nothing.
"You think he's gonna let us out again soon?" A hopeful tone to his voice, missing so much about that little mobile home in Seattle now.
"Not a fucking clue, kid."
And they walked on, where they'd still wait.