nomorekaraoke | At Milliways, recovering

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At Milliways, recovering

A new day, a new shot at life, another day of taking it easy and letting himself heal, of taking 'proper' care of himself. Doctor's orders include: No excessive drinking. Excessive sugar intake. Plenty of rest.

So, that's what Lorne's been keeping busy with. It beats thinking about Emma-Beth back home sweet Earth. So, nursing a big cup of thai chicken soup (sweet and savory), Lorne is carefully readjusting to life without his arm caught in a metaphorical noose.

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"Constantly having a laugh at their own expense, and everyone else's..."

A beat. "I have a bad, baaad feeling about the upcoming movie."

Dismally: "I don't even know if I'm gonna see it. ...In the theaters, I mean," he adds hastily. "I'll get it on Netflix or something."

"I mean...if I'm gonna sneak in there to park myself in front of a silver screen for hours on end, I want to know that it's worth the money and the potential lynching."

Another beat, seeing as they're so useful, "Of course, if I went with yellow face paint, I could almost pull off a young Burns. Or a neo-seventies meets noir Burns."

"...Noir Burns," says Andrew, sounding positively enchanted by the prospect.

"Though yeah, the kind of movie that people dress up for? Especially as aliens? Way easier for nonstandard types to get in. I remember going to see Episode Three and looking down the line --" He mimes pointing to people. "Demon, demon, guy in costume, demon in costume..."

"You've got to admit I have the nose and chin down." He grins, then, "I bet it was awesome being one of few in the know. I'm just surprised so few don't notice... But, I guess the eye sees what it wants to see, you know? Never mind first impressions, I'm talking even before that. You glance at someone, and you immediately assume it's special effects makeup."

"Seriously. It's amazing how people fool themselves into seeing what they expect to see."

He hears the words come out, and then the short silence they make around themselves, and falters slightly.

"Uhuh," Lorne agrees quietly. "Doesn't just go for demon watching, though."

He'd ask what's up if he didn't think it might be encroaching on Wells's mental space. But he does wonder what just happened.

"Goes for a lot of things."

Yeah, he can tell that didn't go unnoticed. For a moment he considers moving past it, then --

"I grew up in a town built over a Hellmouth," he says. "Lot of people there knew something wasn't right, but never knew what. Lot of them never even knew anything was weird about the place. And supernatural stuff could happen right in front of them, happen to them, and they'd make up some rational explanation for it."

That would explain some of it, all right. "It's the same with Los Angeles. Same, in the sense that I have no idea what it's like where you grew up, but people would behave in a similar fashion. I could roam much more freely there than in NYC. I can't say I miss it, though... I left my LA heart back there, I guess.

"What was it like? Growing up in such a place?"

Andrew's quiet for a moment, mulling over the question.

"Not fun," he says eventually, "but I don't think it would've been fun anywhere. Being on a Hellmouth just made some things kind of ... more literal, is all."

Not fun anywhere. Yeah, Lorne knows all about that. "To finding better places to live and learn?"

He gives a small smile and touches the bartop, and picks up the Irish coffee as it materializes.

"Better places," he echoes, raising the glass.

And Lorne tilts his to touch the rim of the other glass, then takes a sip of hot, spicy goodness. Funny thing is, he's almost starting to like the stuff, even without a tall drink of something hard liquor-y and fruity to wash it down. Speaking of which...

"You know something, Wells? Every time I meet you, I swear I like you a little bit better."

Andrew glances at him over the rim of the glass. "...You know, considering the circumstances we keep meeting under, that’s either unbelievable or inevitable."

"Uhuh? How you figure?" Because, sure he could go either way - Stockholm syndrome, the weird, not-hostage-y variety, or the opposites attract cliché. He's just intrigued.

And curiosity only rarely ever slays the demon.

"Well, stressful situations, life and death, loyalties at cross purposes..."

His tone is light, but he's looking down at the melting whipped cream on his Irish coffee instead of at Lorne.

"Better the devil you don't know at all." He glances at the curly-headed sad guy, and decides maybe trying to cheer him up is just not the way to go about this. At least, not with pop culture trivia, no matter how fascinating it is to have found someone to really geek it out with - or so Lorne suspects.

"Listen, I know you feel like crap right now. You don't know what's up or down and everything's just full of ghastly potential that you do not want to deal with right now, but..." nudging him slightly, in a friendly fashion. Flirting has its time and place, and right now is neither.

"Even if you can't see the silver lining, you'll feel better before you know it. Things... have a way of working themselves out. Okay?"

Despite himself, Andrew's smiling again.

"...are you trying to make me feel better?"

"Yes, but I think I lost my knack for it somewhere back in Scotland. I'll lose more than just brownie points if it ever gets out I can't put a grin on the face of every man, woman and Hellspawn on the planet, so pretty please don't tell anyone?" Even if he isn't smiling, his bright red eyes most certainly are.

...

...

...SCORE!

Okay, now it's a grin.

"Not a word," he says, miming zipping his mouth shut.

"Thanks, doll. Let's say I owe you one."

Mission most definitely accomplished, Lorne relaxes where he sits, shoulders slumping and elbows sliding just slightly further onto the bartop. He hasn't felt this mellow in weeks. It's a funny feeling.

"Did you dress up as anyone? In honor of Episode Three?"

He's got to ask. He just can't not ask, he's too nosy.

"I was gonna," he says, a little wistfully, "only then work kind of got really busy and I didn't get the chance to get a costume, so I just brought my lightsaber."

Beat.

"Also it's ... kind of a little weird to dress up as somebody once you've met them."

A veritable current of excitement buzzes through the green guy, and he gawks. "Who? Oh, Jiminy Cricket, you gotta tell me or I'm gonna combust with curiosity!"

Funny, isn't it, how just about anything can be used as an expletive in Lorne's Big Book of Vocab.

"I met a few of them. Anakin first ... he came here after his death. He was a friend."

His gaze has gone a little distant, looking through the bartop to an earlier time.

"Obi-Wan, a couple of times. Princess Leia ... I met Luke in passing, but not really to speak to."

"Wow... I don't even know where to start." He's slightly slack jawed, mind you, which might be a good place for it. Presto; picking jaw off bartop, closing mouth. Ahem.

"Were they anything like you-know-where-and-what?"

Calling people fictional in a place where they clearly exist is just so tacky.

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