Defining Factors

Chapter 6: James?

----

Y'all seem rather excited for the return of Jemmy James. 

Everyone please note: When James is talking, italics is what he's thinking that only Kinloch can hear. Underline is what he signs with his hands.

----

Warnings: Emotional Upheaval (Poor TomTom)

----

He didn't bother signing, seeing as people had just started to notice him, taking alarmed steps back and assuming defensive positions. The dark figure just stood there, looking at them calmly, hands stuffed in his pockets. One person looked up and freaked, firing of a bright beam of light that burned into the wall when dark clothed person Kinloch knew to be James, teleport a foot to the left and just glared at the person who fired at him. Fucking idiot. If I were here to kill you, I'd do it when everyone was asleep and teleport between rooms, offing you one at a time instead of trying to take you all on at once like a fucking moron.

Fredericks looked up at him. "Why is there a half pint standing on my table?" he asked.

James scowled. Asshole. I regret this decision already.

"Who are you?" Fredericks demanded. Everyone was ready to attack at the slightest disturbance. Everyone except Kinloch who pushed his way forward. James took his hands from his pocket slowly, trying not frighten anyone, several shifted uneasily, and he started signing. Fredericks just looked at him as if he were an idiot.

I'm sick of no one knowing sign language.

Kinloch reached the front. "His name is James, sir."

James' gaze shifted to Kinloch. You.

"He can't speak, that's sign language."

Why are you here? Did you have to be here? This makes my life so much harder.

Kinloch ignored him. "Give him something to write with."

"That's not necessary," Lafayette said, pushing forward as well. "Keep signing," he told James. James looked at him suspiciously before continuing to sign.

Is there a point to this?

Lafayette watched his hands intently and after a while, he looked at Fredericks and nodded.

"Why are you on my table?" Fredericks asked.

Is there a point in answering if you're not going to understand?

James signed anyway. "He says that you're in need of a teleporter. And he happens to know one," Lafayette translated. James looked at him appreciatively.

You, I like you. What's your name? James signed.

"Marquis de Lafayette. You wouldn't be the same teleporter Burr's group has been having a hard time tracking down?"

That's me.

"Why show up now?" Fredericks questioned.

I can leave. Would you prefer that?

Thomas was the next person to push to the front, eyes trained on James' back, stopping at the very edge of the table. "James?" his thick southern voice rang out.

James' entire body tensed, refusing to turn around. Shit, is that-

Thomas stepped onto the table and James seemed to shrink into himself with each step that brought Thomas closer. His hand clamped on James' shoulder and turned him around and dropped it instantly his eyes widening. "James."