Desmond wasn't unfriendly most of the time. There was a point where he liked talking to people. He used to be a bartender for fuck's sake. He used to listen to people for a living and charm them into better tips. The way he was raised and his experience most recently were contrary to that though, and he just hadn't gotten used to it again yet. He also stopped trusting friendly people in general after Lucy. Look how that turned out.

He glanced in the direction of the guy who spoke and had to bite back a less than friendly response. It wasn't his fault that everything was shit. Probably. Desmond was still on the fence about whether all of this was real. It was seeing people like this that made him falter in that belief, because no way would he come up with random folks in his delusions. The guy looked like nothing from his other sets of memories. Fine. This was fine.

"I don't know. I've been here about a day." Desmond glanced down the path and frowned. A boathouse. Huh. "Where do the boats go? Can they get us off this damn island?"