Chapter 5 - The Caravan "And After the Storm"
The task of making something resembling a meal wasn't something Lorenzo was interested in. It wasn't that he couldn't cook- he could, pretty decently actually, although that wasn't something that he advertised. He just knew with his arm the way it was, he'd just end up frustrating himself. Even though it wasn't his dominant arm that had been snapped, the limited mobility more than the pain was already annoying him to no end.
Lorenzo had already been awake, seated in one of the office chairs. It wasn't clear exactly how long he'd been in it, his arm had been bugging him too much to get any meaningful amount of sleep.
He listened to Dominic spitballing, swiveling his chair side to side with a somewhat bored expression. Lorenzo wasn't really the plan guy. He'd been told he was stupid often enough growing up to believe it, and was resigned to just muscling through things or kicking asses on someone else's behalf. He more or less just did whatever the more senior members of the group wanted- when it suited him, anyway.
"I'm not getting on no boat, Doc," he stated flatly, as soon as Dominic opened the floor. "That's gonna be a headache."
He continued to swivel the chair, looking off to the wall for a second. He didn't think he really needed to elaborate on why a boat wouldn't work out with their current crew.
"Something lowkey might be the best bet," he continued. He looked between the others, looking almost uncertain, as though he doubted they were listening. "We got, what? A buncha kids, a chick with one leg-" he held his palm up to Izzy, either trying to stop her from taking offense, or just trying to shut her up. "- old people, a few pussies, and two hicks who've fucked off to I dunno where."
"Not exactly a force to be reckoned with, y'know?" Lorenzo shrugged. "In my humble little opinion, I don't think storming the walls of a big, fat prison's the best option. Anyone close by and with halfa brain's gonna be set up there already. I seen that kind of game before, and I don't like our odds. Now, seizing a little piece of ranchland or something 'til we got our pants on right could work."
He leaned back in his chair, yawned, and shook his head. "Just what I'm thinking," he concluded nonchalantly. "I don't really give much of a shit."