(no subject)

[re_mybrains]

Tom doesn't look so hot, honestly.

Unless "hot" means "slumped in a booth in sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt, drinking coffee and looking like he hasn't gotten much sleep lately."

In which case, Tom is freaking smoking.

He's got his back to the front door. It's deliberate.


[tinytag: thy kingdom come, cerberus]

Comments

[hopeitsworthit]

"Dude, you got a thing against showers?"

He's not even a table away from Sam, but come on, this guy looks like shit.

[re_mybrains]

Tom startles, and gives the guy a sidelong look.

"Man, no offense? But if I had more energy," frank, "I'd probably flip you off."

[gavemea_45]

Sam turns to look, at this.

"Let me guess. Long day."

[re_mybrains]

"Long night."

Hence, coffee, thank you very much.

[hopeitsworthit]

"Uh huh."

Dean's got one eyebrow up. Way up.

"I'm terrified."

[re_mybrains]

He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. "Hey, I do my best. Can't ask more than that."

[gavemea_45]

"That pretty much sums it up," he agrees.

"I'm Sam, by the way."

[ellectrical]

So it wouldn't be weird if someone popped up over the side of the next booth, right?

Right. Or if it would be, Elle doesn't care.

"What's wrong with you?" It's rather blunt. But she doesn't care about that, either.

[re_mybrains]

Tom startles.

Unfortunately, he's trying to take a sip of coffee.

Fortunately, his reflexes are still good enough that he only spills a little.

"Aw, shit--"

[ellectrical]

Elle does tilts her head. She hadn't meant to do that, after all.

"You might want to be careful with that."

Helpful!

[re_mybrains]

"Thanks," he grumbles, "I'll keep that in mind."

[ellectrical]

Elle goes quiet for a moment.

But she also stares. A lot.





Still staring.

[re_mybrains]

". . . Can I help you?"

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

Kendra spends lots and lots of time around sweaty, disheveled, dirty, and exhausted men. You can't be in the cape life and not have liberal amounts of tired people with XY chromosomes eventually in your vicinity.

Perhaps fortunately for Tom, when her door to Milliways suddenly decides to appear on her way to get a po'boy - that being the exact moment she opens the living room window of her apartment in St. Roch, trying to sneak out unnoticed by the other tenants, and doesn't see the sky and the city, but rather the bar - she isn't covered in sweat and grime. But it is 3:00 AM her time, and she's in the middle of a quiet night patrolling over what she's come to think of as her city, her fiefdom to protect, when she's not in DC trying to find her way to the nearest bathroom in the gigantic Deco monstrosity of current JLA headquarters.

Needless to say, Kendra is surprised to see Milliways.

[re_mybrains]

Tom is either ignoring the front door, or too sleepy and sunk in his thoughts to notice. The end result's the same: he doesn't see her, for the moment.

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

That's all right, because Kendra sees him very quickly, with his eyes conveniently elsewhere. With the bright green and yellow and the red boots, Kendra might wonder how someone could miss her, but she looks relatively subtle compared to some of her compadres or your average denizen of West Hollywood, and besides, people frequently don't see what's in front of them, particularly supervillains, particularly D-listers. The brain can be good at visually editing out the environment.

But she's not in front of Tom, so she decides to change that, taking an indirect and circuitous route to his booth, sidling around tables close to the wall, until she's as close to being behind him as she's able.

Then she leans over into his range of peripheral vision.

"Boo."

[re_mybrains]

"Son of a--"

He jumps, and someone up there must like him, because somehow he manages not to spill hot coffee all over both of them.

"--Hawkgirl. Hi. Jesus . . ."

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

Occasionally, Kendra will give in to an evil laugh, around people that 1) she really likes and 2) won't take it as an immediate sign that she's gone over to the Dark Side. Tom is in both categories, so an evil-yet-abbreviated laugh it is.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist. Too tempting a target."

She eyes the miraculously unspilled coffee. It smells good.

"Good reflexes, Tom. Got room for company?

He looks exhausted, which makes her want to smooth a hand through his hair and take a better look at him.

[re_mybrains]

A slightly forced smile. "For you? Always."

He means it, really. He's just not having the greatest night.

"It's been a while, huh?"

[tricaputus.livejournal.com]

There's a kid giving Tom the eyeball from a short distance away. A tall, lanky, barefoot kid. In a tunic.

That's a very confusing scent you've got there, Tom.

[re_mybrains]

Tom is focused on his coffee, not any kid in a tunic watching him.




Double-take.

"Can I help you?"

[tricaputus.livejournal.com]

"... You're not dead."

Of course not. But that scent reeks of...any yet you're... DOES NOT COMPUTE!

[re_mybrains]

"Uh. Nope. Not last I checked."

He blinks. "Why?"

[tricaputus.livejournal.com]

Cerberus ambles toward him, neck craned forward, solitary nose working furiously to compenate for its own dullness.

"You smell like... You smell like you should be. Or were someplace you shouldn't have been." There's the very faint ghost of an edge to the latter. He's a bit too preoccupied trying to sort out the olfactory mess to really give his opinion of mortals who traipse about uninvited in places where the dead belong.

[re_mybrains]

"I smell like--?"

He blinks at the kid a few more times, and then does a very deliberate pit-check.

"I've, um, just been here? I mean, upstairs."