[ Danse is gradually getting used to people around here being able to casually touch him without their hands bouncing off a solid six inches of metal. It's nice, actually, easing into it with little brushes and back pats and handshakes and things like that here and there. A sudden tight hug is a bit like being tossed into the deep end of the pool--

--but that's nice too, he realizes, even though it makes his whole frame stiffen with surprise for a second or two. Nobody's done that in as long as he can remember. Haylen had been obliged to make do with crying against the shoulder of his armor. It brings a pleased warm flush to his face, enough to keep him from immediately noticing how cold she feels in turn as he gingerly returns the hug and pats her on the back before disengaging. ]

Honestly, I've been here long enough that I should have a better answer, but it's a mystery. All anyone seems to know is that some kind of Children of Atom-type cult shenanigans might be afoot. It's really not my field of expertise. Valentine would be more in his element here.

[ He has been homesick, if he even misses Nick. There's more he could try to explain, if he knew where to start--the mysterious luxuries of the convoy, the strange mutations they're all undergoing--but the paleness of her skin finally sinks in, and he frowns with some concern. ]

--You're not feeling sick, are you?