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The manufactured weather at Milliways is still cold enough that the seats by the fire are prime nap locations. Shaun is taking full advantage of this by sprawling across the entire sofa.

He'll move if you poke him hard enough.

[ooc: not in the best headspace right now but wanted to play anyway. Warning for probable slowtime.]

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"A shamble," promptly, if a little absently.

"You mean you're not the only one who's kept one?"

Oooh, that's a good one.

"I meant... untrained ones. But no I'm not."

"Oh. Yeah, well, I've seen what a group of 'em can do to a shopping mall."

Brief pause for the resurfacing of memories and the emphatic reburial of them.

He winces.

"Yeah... Sorry."

For what, we may never know.

"Huh."

Another pause.

A longish one.

"Thanks."

... Aaaaawkward.

The silence is broken only by a slight sniff.

... It's really not going to get any less awkward.

Edited 2008-03-14 06:32 (UTC)

"Why the hell do y-- people keep them?"

Apparently, if it's not going to get any less awkward, it may as well get more awkward.

It's like a Shambling Thriller Dance of Uncomfortableness.

"The government came up with a sedative that keeps 'em docile. They use 'em for cheap labor."

'They' in this case emphatically does not mean 'we.'

"--You can sedate them?"

He's suddenly sitting up straighter.

"But that wasn't what you spraying on yours, right?"

"Yeah. It's really hard to get hold of, that's why I don't use it on Ed."

He does keep some on hand in case of emergency... but for some reason he's reluctant to mention that little detail.

He slumps a little, sighing. "Yeah? Ah, well."

He shoots a quick, not-very-happy look at the front door as he speaks.

Dammit.

".. Could probably get some for you if you really needed it. Probably wouldn't last long against a lot of 'em, though."

Now Tom's got him thinking.

"Plus you'd have to get close enough to use it. Mostly they just drug their food."

"Probably wouldn't even work on the one's we've got. Different world, different -- chemical makeup or something, I dunno. Thanks for the offer, though."

He rakes a hand through his hair. "Probably be better off with a couple boxes of bullets."

He perks up a bit at that.

"Oh, that I can get you easy."

"--Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah."

Fortunately, most of the shops that deal in that sort of thing have had time to replenish their stocks by now.

Tom kind of stares at him.

". . . I did hold a gun on you guys," he points out, in that carefully neutral tone you use with people you suspect may be a little off.

"And you'd still be willing to buy me bullets."

"Long as you don't use them on us."

Hiiiiiiiii inappropriate humor.

"Seriously... I know what it's like."

"Sure."

He mostly manages to keep it from sounding dubious.

"I would -- I would really appreciate that. And, uh, I'd pay you back." Rueful: "Somehow or 'nother."

"Sure, no problem. What, uh... size?"

"It's a Glock .45. Uh, GAP rounds, I think. I could get you a bullet to take with you, if you want."

"Yeah, that'd probably be best."

He's looking at Tom like he wants to say something else, but isn't sure what.

"Cool. Thanks."

Pause.

". . . What?"

He shakes his head.

"Nothing."

Uh-huh. Sure.

"Okay. If you say so."

Weird. That wasn't even particularly crazy, for him.