"Can't tell if that sounds like some sorta fugue state or what..." but he theorizes, maybe, that Abner's been trained to be completely covert in his actions. That he won't be a threat to confidential information. He can only imagine what kind of toll that'd take on the mind, and while he'd hope someone would only damn themselves to that grief willingly? Knowing what he knows about their imprisonment system says to him that they shouldn't.
They reach the upstairs office first, names listed on one of those signs where you slip in the letters individually. Amazing how much stuff the original resettlement of the area managed to dig up, even small tidbits like that. And Miller's name is written as Kazuhira Miller.
When they reach the door, the man inside with the handsome face, just scruffy enough that it looks intentional and pristine, and shockingly blond hair does not look like a Kazuhira. He shouldn't judge, though.
He knocks on the open door rather than just entering, tapping against the wood so the other man looks up through NCR issued sunglasses and is in a beret with a patch he can't identify, another bewildering mix here. A liaison, maybe? He's wearing a uniform under a tidy long coat, and while he writes with his left hand his mechanized right one sits idly on the desk.
He looks up to Hank and Abner. "How may I help you?"
"We're here to ask about one of the late Paul DePleur's associates. Adam Van Cleef?"
"Oh." Miller responds with all the passion of a man that's found a turd lying in the center of a clean room, and he tips back in his seat and turns his pen in his fingers, real and metal.
no subject
They reach the upstairs office first, names listed on one of those signs where you slip in the letters individually. Amazing how much stuff the original resettlement of the area managed to dig up, even small tidbits like that. And Miller's name is written as Kazuhira Miller.
When they reach the door, the man inside with the handsome face, just scruffy enough that it looks intentional and pristine, and shockingly blond hair does not look like a Kazuhira. He shouldn't judge, though.
He knocks on the open door rather than just entering, tapping against the wood so the other man looks up through NCR issued sunglasses and is in a beret with a patch he can't identify, another bewildering mix here. A liaison, maybe? He's wearing a uniform under a tidy long coat, and while he writes with his left hand his mechanized right one sits idly on the desk.
He looks up to Hank and Abner. "How may I help you?"
"We're here to ask about one of the late Paul DePleur's associates. Adam Van Cleef?"
"Oh." Miller responds with all the passion of a man that's found a turd lying in the center of a clean room, and he tips back in his seat and turns his pen in his fingers, real and metal.