[ Flawless and perfect. Wash could almost admire it, if he wasn't too busy trying to pick it apart. If he was any other person, this might be where he gives up, eases back, starts to think that maybe he was wrong in the first place, but Wash has learned to be cautious and finds that seeing dangers where there are none is a far, far better choice than overlooking the knife in the dark. He's eased up some, over time, but Byerly's tripped enough of his flags that he's not about to look away from him any time soon.

He's a liar himself, besides. A different kind, but a practiced one, almost all of his life pretending to be whatever he needed to be, and in Freelancer he'd chosen something light and carefree, an off-kilter smile and just enough bumbling naivete to be overlooked and underestimated. Wash of all people knows damned well that a dedicated liar wouldn't give himself away quite so quickly.

But Byerly really is very good, better than Wash had ever been -- or he really, he could still be wrong. Could be seeing things and hearing things for all he fucking knows. ]

I'm sorry, Vorrutyer. [ Glancing his way, it seems apologetic enough, though clipped, still. He hasn't been hiding his suspicion, doesn't quite feel the need to. ] I guess I'm just an honest man.

But I'm sure you'll find some way to be useful, around here. [ A smile, a tip of his head. Did you have any more questions for him, Byerly? ]