"Yea, uh, messy." He shakes his head. Screwy. He's almost sure of it now.

When he's back in the main room, he shrugs out of his bedroll strap and lets the bundle fall to the dusty floor. He's slept in worse. This is no time to get fastidious. The dust puffs and settles, and he makes his way over to the fireplace. It doesn't take him too long to get things set well enough to start a fire. He keeps himself turned more to the side than with his back to her. He sees nothing wrong with being considered suspicious. As far as he cares, it keeps both of them more honest.

His matches are precious things, an ever dwindling supply that he doesn't use when he's alone. He can start a fire the Boy Scout way. He prefers not to when he has to focus his attention on strangers. He strikes a single match, sets it to kindling, shoots a quick, mistrustful look her way, and bends to start blowing at the flame. It's a careful nursing that after a few nervous touch and go moments has him convinced it's not a bust.

He sits back on his heels. "Ain't much. It'll do. You got a name I can call you? If we're gonna be here all night, Ma'am's gonna wear thin."