Alaric was tapping his leg impatiently and focusing with all of his might not to heave up a day's worth of rations. His amber eyes dart around the room, taking in the image of four others all dressed in white. There are a few others scattered about the place: some freak with no hair or eyebrows even, another guy who could fit in as... 128's brother. That one seemed a deal more threatening looking than 128 by a good margin. Judging by first impressions alone never meant much to himself, though, Alaric had been cast aside far too many times in the past to do so.
Alaric slumps onto the bench before immediately glancing sideways to the man on his left. He's a chiseled rock compared to his lanky self, but that doesn't deter him in the least. He reaches out and taps the man on the shoulder.
He attempts to lighten the mood. “Hey. Number 111, right? Don't happen to have any Iho on you, huh? Because if you're going die from exhaustion, be a good man and pass me one before you keel.”