He frowned. “I’m sorry, my sign language is a little rusty. Could you run that through again?”
He chooses to ignore the twitch out of respect. The place looked a mess- but truly, it was a creative mess. Several items on the work bench either glowed with a faint light, or were completely unremarkable in and of themselves. Gordon slipped a bookmark into the book he was perusing.
"Sorry about the mess. Rick came in here earlier- after using my chest as a footstool, he felt the need to take my belongings in exchange for my life, and, well-" He gestures to the half open drawers that were too high for him to reach with his broken leg.
"…we’ve had some problems."
He motioned to the seat across from the table- and several others. “Make yourself comfortable, if you’d like. Everyone who comes down here does.” Stupid fucking robots and their stupid fucking feet…
He notices her looking at the gun. He carefully picked it up and removed the clip, prior to ejecting the round in the chamber of the gun. This one didn’t seem like too much trouble- and looked more afraid of him than he was of her.
Gordon Freeman sat at a lab table, perusing the contents of a book, drinking from a small cup of water, and eyeing the nine millimeter pistol that sat near his right side on the table on occasion. He looked up, briefly, from his book to see Morality peeking in.
"Ah, you’re not Rick after all. Good. You may come in, if you would like."
Someone called out from inside.
"If you’re not the jolly green and purple asshole, then it’s open."
Nods, holds her a little tighter. “That’s what I thought.”
Snickers. “How else did you want me to do it?”