milliways_bar | (no subject)

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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]

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"Wouldn't put anything past this place, though."

A sidelong look. "You seem to know a lot about it."

Elle actually laughs, but manages to keep it brief.

"It's not really my thing."

His eyebrows go up.

"Meaning?"

"I'm not a telepath."

The duh is clear enough, even if she doesn't say it.

"I'm different."

". . . Okay," slowly, "that's vague and unhelpful."

Elle would point out that he's kind of one to talk, but... she doesn't really care.

And she'll never resist the opportunity to be a showoff, anyway. So she just smile and holds out her hand, opening it quickly to let sparks crackle over her palm for a moment. They fizzle out quickly.

Tom jumps back.

"Holy shit!"

"It's ok," she says as she draws her hand back. "I can control it."

Ok, to a lot of people, that's not entirely comforting.

"Jesus, I'd hope so."

"So you can't do anything?"

Here or even on the outside, it's not her first assumption most of the time.

"What, like -- like that?" He shakes his head. "Hell no."

"You from a totally normal place or something, then?"

"Well -- not totally normal, no, but I don't know anyone who can do things like that. Or give people nightmares, either."

"Ok..."

Understandable, but still, "Then what's not normal in your world?"

Blunt: "The zombies."

Elle... gives him a skeptical really? look.

Which, yeah, might seem strange after her display. But she only dimly knows what a zombie is, anyway.

"Believe it or not."

He takes a broody sip of coffee.

Ok, Elle does know that a zombie is generally bad. And... brain-eating? And walks funny? She never really got the point.

So all she can really come up with is, "Gee, it sucks you can't do anything."

'Cause she could totally zap some... funny-walking, brain-eating ... things.

"Well, you know. I can shoot them."

Better than nothing!

Yeah. But still.

"You're not dead then, right?"

She keeps forgetting to ask that and it'll be relevant sometime.

He shrugs. "Not yet."

Tonight's theme: pessimism.

Beat.

"Are there zombies here?"

Her interested-bordering-on-hopeful tone probably isn't very appropriate.

He opens his mouth -- closes it, hunches his shoulders.

"I've only seen one here. --Well, there was . . . No. Just the one."

"Good thing it wasn't allowed to... do ... whatever then."

Elle - still helpful!

"Oh, it tried."