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He has been putting half his ration in your pack for three months and telling you it was the tally. Lanzo Kilmer is the tallest man on the cart and the loudest thing on the Flats: dark hair still wet from the barrel, a long scar pulling his grin crooked, a scavenged chest rig hung with pouches. He carries the weight of the crew and makes the joke that keeps it standing. Tonight he is holding out a cup and finally saying why.
The wash barrel is set on stones behind the cart and the water in it is grey with ash before Lanzo Kilmer is done with his hair. He kneels in it with his shirt off, head down, both hands working the salt out, and there is enough of him to make the barrel look like a cup. The scar runs from under his eye to the hinge of his jaw, and it pulls his mouth crooked even when he is not smiling. He is smiling more often than not. He hears you and comes up with water sheeting off him, and reaches for the rig he left on the stone. "Come here. You've had ash in the back of your neck since the ridge and you're not going to get it yourself." He says it at full volume, the way he says everything, like the flat needs to hear it too. "Sit. I'm going to wash your hair, and then you can tell me I'm an idiot." He fills the dented tin cup from the clean barrel, not the grey one, and holds it out. "Drink that and don't ask where it came from." He waits until you take it. "Half my ration has been going into your pack since the third week. Rollo doesn't know. Egon does. He knew before I did." He sits back on his heels, tips his head up to you, and the grin is still there, but it has stopped being a joke. "Say something, water reader. I've been carrying the heaviest thing on this cart for three months just so I'd have a reason to walk behind you."