milliways_bar | (no subject)

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She didn't know why she hadn't gone home. It wasn't like she was stuck in the bar. She'd told Suzi that she could see the door. And she could. So by what she'd been told she wasn't bound to this place. But something had kept her from going home. Back to Hannibal King. The only male that she did trust nowadays. The only guy to back her up when her life was in danger. The day before this she'd asked the Bar for a room key and had gotten it, slept in that room... or at least had tried to anyways. Now though she's back downstairs and laying out on the couch. Though she's not entirely with it and she's staring off into space.

Distractions would be good. Before she ends up just taking everything she's been bottling up inside and breaks down.

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Well, there's nothing wrong with loving plants. She gives him a slight smile when he goes on about them though. "Abigail Whistler. Friends call me Abby though." She shakes her head at that. "You didn't bother me."

"Hi, Abigail." Seymour gives his plant its on cushion on the couch. "So, been coming here long?"

She shakes her head a bit, eyes watching him and the plant. "I can't say that I have. Just showed up in this weird place yesterday, actually."

Seymour makes sure the pot is steady - it wouldn't do the plant any good to fall over, would it? - before turning back to her.

"Oh," he murmurs, surprised. "You, uh, got the speech, right? About the rules and everything?"

Abby gives him a smile. "Yeah, I got the speech about the rules and everything. So I'm all set on that stuff."

"Oh, good," Seymour says in relief. He just knows he'd be horrible at explaining them.

"He's a Peruvian zinnia," Seymour adds, gesturing to the plant. "Was sick for a while, but he's getting better. Finally figured out what he wanted." That provokes a cheerful smile from the nerd.

She looks down at the plant not too far from her before turning eyes back to Seymour. "So what did he want?" It was a bit odd to hear someone talk about a plant like that but to each their own.

A wry smile. "Someplace not my basement. And I think he likes the music here." Seymour gestures above, to the sound system Whistler installed that plays pleasant background music.

"I play a lotta rock 'n' roll, so he must not like that."

"Then he probably wouldn't like what I listened to. Techno, hip hop... stuff like that."

Seymour thinks for a moment, then admits, "I don't know what those are."

That makes her blink for a moment and stare at him. Okay then... "You don't know what techno is... would you like to find out?"

"Why not?" Pause. "Um, how?"

Abby hands him the earphones to her ipod. "Here, put those in your ears. Once you do I'll turn it on and show you what techno is."

Seymour's eyebrows go up as he stares at the Ipod.

"O-- okay. Sure." He gives it a few more anxious looks before putting the earpieces in.

She gives him a reassuring smile before finding a techno beat on the ipod. But not something that will overwhelm him too much.

Which is a good idea, really.

Unfortunately, Seymour comes from a time when Elvis is controversial. So his mind does look a little blown.

He blinks at Abigail a few times, then manages, "It's...something."

She gives a slight laugh and gives him a slight smile.

"After a while you get used to something like that. If you listen to it enough, that is."

"I guess." Seymour sounds rather ambivalent about the idea. He takes the earpieces out - gives them another look - and hands them back to her.

"We definitely don't have stuff like that where I'm from," he comments. "Are you from Earth?" Gosh, it sure sounds weird, saying that.

She raises a slight brow at that and takes them back then blinks slightly at his question.

"I'm from Earth, yeah. Though where I'm from its the 21st century."

Or something like that anyways.

Seymour is all about the sweet understanding...just not so much when it comes to crazy, modern music.

It takes Seymour a moment to work out what that means. "Oh! The future. I'm from '62." He gazes once more at Abigail's strange, futuristic music-playing machine.

She blinks and stares at him a moment. "Wow. So you're from the past. What kind of music do you listen to then?"

"Rock 'n' roll. Elvis, Little Richard, Fats Domino, Chubby Checker, Buddy Holly, Bill Haley and the Comets...." It occurs to him right about now that she might not actually know who he's talking about. Thus, he looks quizzically at her.

"Not a bad set of groups." They're before her time but that doesn't mean she hasn't heard of them.

"Oh, thanks." He's rather relieved that some of his favourites are still around. Or will be known to the younger generation. "Could go on. Mostly I like whatever the local station's playing."

"I don't think I've listened to the radio in a very long time."