That first meeting went about as well as could be expected. Cody shook his head. It was a slight gesture, but he didn't want it to be misunderstood. He wasn't disappointed, in fact, it was quite the contrary. He was beginning to be impressed with what the group had to offer. What they lacked in experience, they seemingly made up in spunk.

He managed to commit the map more or less to memory, the relevant details at least, before he was ready to leave. A bit of unexpected movement from the other side of the room caught his attention and he was shocked to find that what he thought was an avant garde clay sculpture actually lived and breathed. Cody pursed his lips together. He hadn't actually expected to see an alien. [i]Maybe he's not even an alien. I'm making assumptions. He could very well be a mutant or, what's that preferred term? Biologically askew?[/i] He watched, unimpressed, as he slurred his speech and belched. The smell of two hundred proof breath almost wafed all the way to his nostrils. Cody suppressed the urge to retch. [i]That's probably a disgrace to extraterrestrials. Chances are, that's a guy with a terrible case of eczema and a record-breaking skull deformation.[/i] However, with some alarm, he noticed he almost felt the urge to go over and examine that bizarre cranial structure. For better or for worse, he'd always been a tactile kind of guy.

Breaking away from the room to make a soundless exit, he made sure to give the raptor and the pouty male model the space they'd need before heading out. His room was close by, luckily, so he wouldn't need to hear the two bickering. Or they could be doing much worse. He couldn't have reached the door any faster if he tried.

Once finally in the room, he noticed the uniform that was set atop a bedside table, but it failed to capture more than a fleeting glimmer of his attention. He felt oddly exhausted, and he sat on his bed, hands clasped and perched on his knees. It had finally become real. He was doing [i]something[/i] to finally move on. As proud as he felt about these first steps, they also made him painfully aware that he'd been walking around on empty for so long. He blew a strand of hair from his face.

The blonde spared a few moments to scrutinize his newest wardrobe addition. There was no doubt that it was of a higher quality than anything he'd ever even laid eyes upon before. The texture of the weave suggested it would be easy to move in and incredibly breathable. A little more poking and prodding made him wonder if it was built to be especially resistant. He was half tempted to walk down the hall and ask someone to shoot him, just to test it out, but he didn't want anyone getting the wrong idea. Earnest as they all may be, there was still that little issue of an unshakeable fog of insanity that loomed over the group. One of them might be packing a weapon or skill that even Moneybags and his Incredible Blinking Secretary couldn't have prepared for. If he was gonna bleed out, he'd do it heroically, thank you very much, and not at the hands of someone who likely thought him suicidal.

He exhaled once more and lifted his legs, laying himself flat on the bed. It wasn't spectacularly comfortable, but he sort of liked it that way. It reinforced the fact that this wasn't some cozy retreat. It was a job. Treated properly, it could become a home away from home. Taken for granted, it'd be a prison. As he closed his eyes for a quick rest, he couldn't help but laugh. 

[i]"I will pay for its repair with my first wage."[/i]

It was the cutest thing he'd heard in ages and it came from Rock'em Sock'em of all people. He was sure Merlovich didn't give a rat's ass... (that was now surely an indelicate phrase) about a table he procured for his troupe of fools. But still, Mr. Roboto cared. There was truly a spark there, a tender sprout of compassion, that would surely take them all a long way.