[ there's no recognition on york's face, no indication that he knows who he's talking to (and why the hell would he?), and that's good. that means church has the upper hand. what he knows about york is — limited, details given to him by tex, and then the disjointed, incoherent fragments of memory he gained from delta upon dive bombing into the meta's head.

but the images, however blurry and painful, are enough to paint a semi-clear picture. york is dead back in church's timeline, ko'd by that son of a bitch wyoming, and church doesn't know if he's from then or from before but either way chances are he had delta on him before passing through the ingress to the moira.

church is relaxed, slumped back into his chair with his legs kicked out and crossed in front of him. his easygoing posture is a sharp contrast to the stare he's giving york now, critical and curious, his eyes moving from york's face down to the helmet sitting between them. ]

Live here? [ the question has him looking up from york's helmet with a sharp laugh. ] I mean, yeah? I guess, technically, I live here, but I'm not from here, if that's what you mean.

[ he eases away from the table and rocks onto the back legs of his chair, meeting york's eye with his own. ]

You must be one of the new guys.

[ like he doesn't already know. ]