[202 Kitchen]
In a certain light, Mel looks like an average wieght girl with a paunched belly.
In another light, she looks like a once skinny and muscular girl who's three months pregnant. It depends on what you expect her to look like, really.
Right now, she's in the kitchen of 202, rooting through cans. Tris' list of Do Not Eats hasn't left much, really.
In another light, she looks like a once skinny and muscular girl who's three months pregnant. It depends on what you expect her to look like, really.
Right now, she's in the kitchen of 202, rooting through cans. Tris' list of Do Not Eats hasn't left much, really.
Wesker's piled onto the end of a sofa, still a little groggy from painkillers. He looks up when he hears her movement.
He's reading Angua's Book of Dangers, from the very beginning.
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Yeah, that gets a lot of reading.
Eventually she finds something she's allowed - water chestnuts which she adds to noodles - and comes into the living room to sit down. The stranger gets a nod. "You're new too, right?"
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"Just dropped in." His voice is listless, the color drained out of it by shock and grief. Or deliberate acting, but why would anyone do that? Look at the man, he's had a bad day. "Same with you?"
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She'll ask exactly if he's OK later. It could well be disorientation.
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"Yes, I've heard there's a fair amount of newcomers. It's rather on the disconcerting side to appear here and have everyone simply be bored by my one talent." That was a faint attempt at humor.
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"Mosta the newcomers came in a week or so ago." she nestles into her chair slightly, interested. "What's the talent?"
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He glances down through his shades and turns the page. Oh, they have living creatures made of stone. What he could do with a few notes on anatomy. . . "What do you do around here?"
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She got all confused around zombies and gave up.
"I don't do a lot. Talk to people, help work out rosters. Used to do mosta the scavenging, but now I'm sorta stuck in home defence. Hoping to get the greenhouse going soon.
"What was your name?" He didn't offer it when she told him hers.
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He nods. "We appreciate the effort. It's not a nice place out there." There's unhappiness in his voice again, and he thins his lips and pushes it aside. "I really should look at the rosters. I'm not sure how useful my skills would be here. I'm only a cop."
Oops. Witholding information is something of an old habit. First names, was it? "I'm Albert."
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"Cop, huh?" Slight trace of a smirk? Maybe. "Y'should talk to Angua, then. She's kinda the top cop around here. Or m'sister Erin."
Actually, she thinks Erina nd Angua should talk to each other. Blonde police sergeants unite, or something.
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"Angua." He tests the pronunciation of the name thoughtfully. "What does she look like?" What she looks like, as well as the fact she's got at least one sibling here, is left alone. There's a lot of food for thought. He turns the page for another glance down. "I've had some experience with firearms, of course. I'm proficient in hand to hand. I'm afraid those particular skills don't set me apart."
His word choice has gotten a little more refined, suddenly, a little more precise. It's the creature on the new page. Scientists get a little distracted when they're green with envy.
Hey, creepy. It's the invasion of the blonde cops! Third-generation Aphar criminals will refer to cops as "dandelions" and have no idea where the reference came from.
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"Curvy, thick blonde hair?" Mel hazards. "Sometimes wears a red cloak from her world. She wrote that actually," she adds with a nod to the book in his hand.
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Would Mel tell him about anything else Angua does? Hell no.
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"That's fortunate." Still earnest, still just a hapless cop sucked into a mess too big for him. "People can get ugly when they're trapped. But what are Magog?"
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