"...the notorious criminal with a huge bounty on his head? Why the hell do you think that's me?"

He turns over and buries his face in his pillow. "The story, mm. Little Arcadia. Heard it before. Been 'round. Out the city. More'n most."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm. Story's diff'rent. But Zash the Stampede was there. Izz you."

"You really shouldn't believe all stories you hear, you know."

"I don't. Believe... anything..." He mumbles some sleepy noises into his pillow then says, "G'night Zash."

"...good night, Frank."

"Mmm."

And he's out.

He wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night.

"Zash the Stampede?!" he cries out loud, looking around in a panic, but there's no one there.

What...

...a dream. He'll go back to sleep. No... Stampede. Zzzz...

(He hopes John/Frank doesn't freak everyone else out tomorrow calling him Zash the Stampede, that'd be a bummer.)

He doesn't.

He takes a shower, again, and puts on clean clothes, again, and goes out looking for Zash, again.

Today Zash is helping some people load crates of nonperishables into trucks that arrived in the middle of the night from Clarke Town bearing textiles. He's the only one not shirtless while doing all that strenuous physical labour but he did take his red coat off and pull his sleeve up to his elbow, revealing a very badly scarred forearm. And he does, even so, look a lot less winded than the bigger, seemingly-stronger men who do this for a living.

"Afternoon, John!" Zash calls when he sees him.

"Afternoon, Z," he calls back, trying not to let his bewilderment get in his way. And also trying not to coil away from the sun; this is far too much light for so early in the morning day. "Can we talk?"

"Not right now but after we're done? Shouldn't be too long! Have you eaten? We could grab a late lunch over at Xander's, on me!"

"...yeah, sure, that works."

And so after they're done with this truck Zash begs off and goes to Xander's with John/Frank.

"I never gave you your credit chit back," he says, sliding it over the table. "...and can I borrow your shades, this light is giving me a headache."

"Sure, but just for now, I don't like to be seen without them," he says, taking them off.

He puts them on, but not before noting the unusual colour and—glow? the hell?—of Zash's eyes.

"So. I was right. Last night. Wasn't I."

"Was I?"

"...yes."

"Thought so."

"Why... are you here? Are you going to rob the bank or...?"

"—goodness, no. What gave you that impression?"

"Are you making fun of me?"