Jacob needs no such time to think. He knows what he wants, what he's always craved, and the answer comes with an accompanying peel of laughter. "Free."

It's the one thing he can't have. At home, he's bound to the Creed, has been since his birth, and while there are no physical chains to hold him, he knows full well the reality of the world he comes from. He can't unknow it, the war between Templar and Assassin, the number of innocent people killed and enslaved because of it. He has a moral duty to do something about it, to act on what he knows.

But he wouldn't have picked that life for himself.

And Hellboy knows the state of play here. They have no freedom, not really. Unable to buy anything for themselves, needing permission to go to the Up, all the rest of the bullshit this place has thrown at them.

"But failing that? I'd rather be drunk."

As his shift is now undone, he drops the hand down and pulls from between the bed and thin mattress a hip flask. It's not quite as full as it was when he arrived, but it's far from empty. And there's some good, strong spirits in there. He takes a pull, and then offers it out.