milliways_bar | (no subject)

"It has," she agrees, flattening her wings as much as possible so she can scoot in next to him. "I've been having a very interesting time back home. I gather you have, too."

That last is said more quietly. Kendra knows the thousand yard stare.

"Want more coffee? I think I'll have some."

He shifts over to give her room, and sits forward to give her wings more room.

"I'm willing to bet your interesting is more interesting than mine," he comments with a more genuine smile. "Uh -- I could use a warm-up, yeah."

Since he's not planning on sleeping again any time soon.

"I was on my way out to get a po'boy when Milliways interceded. Think they have them here?" she asks, while waving at a waitrat, pointing at Tom's coffee, then holding up two fingers.

Kendra loves being in coffee shops late at night. There's an intimacy to night that is sorely lacking during the day.

"Wait. Have you ever even had a po'boy?"

"Hell, they have pretty much everything, right?"

He wrinkles his forehead. "Po'boy. Umm. No? All I can think of is that Creedence Clearwater song."

"If you start singing Creedence Clearwater, I'll dump this coffee on you," she grins. "I spend part of my time in Louisiana, where cutting edge radio means Creedence Clearwater and The Eagles."

The waitrat returns with two cups of coffee, and, in a fait accompli, two hot po'boys.

Kendra is very thankful for the crumpled twenty she finds in one of the canvas pouches on her belt, which she places on the waitrat's tray.

"Both fine bands!" he protests, hastily snagging one of the cups.

"Oh, um--" He blinks at the sandwich. "You didn't have to -- I'm not really that hungry right now. And you didn't have to pay, I think I owe you a round."

"Are you kidding? Your tab must be huge. You live here, don't you? And how can mortal man resist the allure of a Louisiana baguette stuffed with delicious comestibles?"

She adds sugar and cream to her coffee, stirring it and then tapping the spoon lightly twice against the rim of the cup when she's done. It's a habit she's had since she was fourteen, one of those little idiosyncratic rituals that take hold. She likes the ting noise; it's always somehow comforting and normal sounding.

"You must have worked out a barter economy at this point, to survive. Which leads me to ask why you look so beat."

He huffs a laugh. "Well, if I can find any currency out there -- just 'cause it's useless out there shouldn't make it useless in here, right?"

As to that last question, though . . .

"Oh, um." He scrubs a hand through his hair. "Just. Nightmares. No big deal."

Silence prevails for a few moments, while she digests this.

One of the po'boys is slowly pushed towards him, inch by inch. It's chock full of thinly sliced roast beef, gravy, and fully dressed, New Orleans style, with fresh dark green lettuce and tomatoes, all resting in one of those incredible sweet baguettes. She can't not try to get him to eat, at least once.

"Nightmares? What kind of nightmares?"

Edited 2008-02-18 04:17 (UTC)

The po'boy gets eyed. He might yet get around to it, but right now . . . yeah.

He gives her a quick, rueful smile. "What kind of nightmares do you think I would have?"

"Horrible ones. People who survive a Bad Situation" - the capitals are implied - "often do. But it's really common, if that makes you feel any better. You're not alone in this. Do you get any respite at all?"

The coffee, when she sips it, is hot, sweet, and excellent, which brings another satisfied smile to her face. Sometimes coffee and company can chase the demons away.

"Yeah -- I mean, I don't usually sleep that well, but I don't usually have real nightmares. This is two in -- two weeks?"

He rubs one eye with the heel of his hand. "And that's not so bad, y'know?"

"Tom, have you ever considered that you might have a mild case of PTSD? I don't know anyone sane who wouldn't. I think if you never had nightmares, you'd be a sociopath. Think of it as a sign of your humanity and soul being intact. Unless these are different kinds of nightmares?"

Kendra knows Milliways is tricksy. She's considered many, many possibilities when it comes to how being here might affect people.

"--Uh. Yeah." He looks down, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I -- guess it'd be PTSD. I haven't done any research on it or anything."

Because you're crazy, Tom. Aren't you?

Not going down that line of thought.

"They're -- I don't know. I haven't had any as bad as these in a while, but -- I don't know."

"Ah."

That's not good, by a long stretch.

"Are these the wake up screaming type, or the wake up paralyzed with fear type, or the wake up and get on your knees and thank god that you're not asleep anymore type? I've had all three. They made me not want to sleep ever again."

A sigh. "Last one." He give her a tired look. "They suck, don't they? So" -- he lifts his cup -- "coffee.

"What do you dream about? I mean, if you don't mind me asking."

Five thousand years of dreams to choose from?

"I dreamt last week that I was fighting the Royal Flush Gang - don't even ask, they run around in costumes based on playing cards - and realized mid-punch that I was starkers. That's my version of dreaming about being in high school math class naked. I felt...very vulnerable. I dream about directing movies, too. That seems to be a recurring theme lately. I spent a couple of years in film school, so that should explain why. Sometimes I dream about being over the ocean, with no land in sight, and I have to sleep in the air because there's no land to get to. Oh, and elephants. I like elephants, so I dream about them. Apparently that means that I'm compassionate and sensitive. Could have fooled me."

She grins, before taking another sip of coffee.

There's something -- soothing about sitting, sipping his coffee, and listening to her talk.

At the last part, he smiles back at her over his coffee. "Doesn't surprise me at all."

--Did he just say that? Um. More coffee now.

He's so cute when he's embarrassed. She has to sip her coffee again, to cover up a knowing grin.

"What doesn't surprise you? That I like elephants? I seem to be making part of my career specialty coming across elephantine people. I met the Ganeshans once - big elephant men that serve Ganesha, with trunks and tusks. Very nice guys. Very loyal, long memories, and if you do them a favor, they go out of their way to help you if they ever have the chance. They helped me once with a hummingbird problem."

There's a menacing emphasis on the birdy part.

Good -- at least he gets something out of it.

"A hummingbird problem?" He raises his eyebrows with a glance at her wings.

"A hummingbird problem," she confirms. "She tried to invade St. Roch - my city - along with a few other people from the rogues gallery. There's Fadeaway Man, who you might think would be a guy that devotes his life to try living in obscurity, a guy named Lion Mane, the Pilgrim, a lady named Satana, and the aforementioned hummingbird, a girl named Marci. They made my life miserable for a week or three before we got things sorted out. Let's see, there was the blunt force trauma to my head - be glad I have a thick noggin - the coma, the waking up with a headache the size of Neptune, the fight with the Pilgrim where I had to use a weapon that I'd always been scared to actually try to operate, and then we eventually put everyone away in their own separate places."

In the hummingbird's case, something customized.

"We put the hummingbird in a cage and left her to the Komeriah. But after all the people she'd made miserable and killed, I think a little self-reflection is just what the doctor ordered. I did go to Italy for a week afterwards, just to find somewhere peaceful to sleep for three days. Ever been to Capri?"

He can't help laughing a little. "You have, what, supervillains called the Pilgrim and you say this place makes you crazy? When was this?"

Taking a sip of coffee, he shakes his head. "Are you kidding? I've hardly gotten out of the Midwest, except for here."

"The Pilgrim," she replies darkly, with appropriate Rod Serling gravitas, "was not to be fucked with. I tore up more than a little piece of street fighting him. Kind of an unoriginal name though, huh? He has a good sense of theatrics. Definitely."

He also has a centuries long grudge against the Saunders family, but that's neither here nor there, right now.

"This was about a year and a half ago. I kept waiting for the Indian to show up, but he or she never arrived."

Sagely: "Then you would need a Cowboy."

This passes for logic in Tom's brain at this hour of the night.

It passes for logic with Kendra, too.

"And a Gunslinger, a Hanging Judge, a Rustler, and a Loose Woman. The Rustler does rope tricks, I bet. In fact, that's probably his superpower."

Snort.