After a couple of disastrous attempts at going to cafes for her coffee fix, Deb has resigned herself to the coffee maker provided by the Kashtta. It reminds her of home, of huddling around the coffee maker at the police station while yammering on about her latest love life crisises to Angel or LaGuerta or hell, even Quinn, and that's - both a good thing and a bad thing.
But Deb needs coffee like fucking oxygen, and this stuff is free. Bonus. She comes into the kitchen just in time to see Spencer pouring disgusting amounts of milk and sugar into what was probably a perfectly good cup of coffee.
I would be lying if I siad that me watching Dexter last night had nothing to do with this post.physics_magicNovember 24 2010, 21:52:39 UTC
He downs the coffee like it's a shot and gets up to pour himself another drink. He should probably be shaking from the way he's inhaling his coffee but his metabolism is used to the excessive amount of caffeine and sugar.
"The milk cools it down," he answers, misinterpreting her statement even though it's far from the first time someone has commented on his coffee habits.
Someone should probably tell him to back off of the coffee but that's not going to happen any time soon. The alternative to staying awake is sleeping and his head isn't really behaving in a manner that's conductive to sleep.
Considering a moment, he reaches into the cabinet and pulls down another cup, holding it out to her. He assumes that if she's here to observe him drinking coffee, she would be turning to leave by now. The alternative dictates it's either coffee or food and all things considering...
XD I APPROVE OF ALL WATCHINGS OF DEXTER. and this post.fuckinpenguinsNovember 24 2010, 22:09:17 UTC
Deb watches him down the coffee, lips twitching a little in a smirk. Minus the sweeteners, it's like watching herself when she's getting to the bottom of a case. Everyone at the station knew to stay out of her way when she was on one of her 36-hour caffeine binges.
"I meant all that milk and sugar," she says, pulling a face. Whether it cools the coffee down or not, Deb'd rather burn the fuck out of her mouth.
She takes the cup from him, though, because she isn't actually here to criticize anyone's drinking habits. Especially someone she doesn't know.
"Thanks," she says. She pours herself a cup and adds the smallest amount of sugar. Once she's had a few sips - eyes flickering in happiness like an addict because damn, that's good - she turns her attention back to Spencer.
I am starting S3 tonight. I am very, very excited and kind of want to try and get a Dexter.physics_magicNovember 24 2010, 22:46:32 UTC
"You're not the first person to say that," he informs with a laugh. He will say it's been a while though and a pang of old longing rises up in his chest. He's gotten used to it though, the ache that comes with missing his old life. It probably helped that he was already having those feelings before he was pulled into the Rift.
"It's good," he finishes, this time drinking his coffee a little slower, though not by much. "And it keeps me awake. I used to work long hours back home."
Even if she was, he probably wouldn't care, he's heard it all before and it's something normal. Not Rift-normal, not this new dullness that has settled in around him but the normality that had been a part of his own life. Even if the mocking came from a stranger, it was almost nice.
How sad is that, he muses to himself but he forces the thoughts away in favor of paying attention to her again.
"No," he admits with a shrug. "Just...Bored. I have nothing to do." He laughs and it's almost a bitter sound. "Still haven't really settled in around here
fkdjkssd, I WOULD LOVE A DEXTER. or any other Dexter pup really. :>fuckinpenguinsNovember 25 2010, 02:13:21 UTC
She watches him carefully as she sips her own coffee. Deb hasn't met a lot of people here, herself - hasn't really made any friends. She's not the easiest person to get along with to begin with, and she misses her people. She misses the crew at the police station, Rita and the kids - and god fucking damn it, she misses her brother
( ... )
I am going to try my best to coiax him into staying around. I need to actually get back to watchingphysics_magicNovember 25 2010, 02:28:24 UTC
He understands, he understand completely. God, if he could ahve it all back, he would. Even after...After everything, he would go back.
But he can't. There's no way back and he doubts there ever w8ill be.
"Wait what?" He looks at her in surprise. "You were a detective?" It feels stupid but he's surprised. He hadn't met that many people but none of them seemed to be law enforcement and most of them seemed to have adjusted to their new surroundings a lot better than he did.
""I was FBI," he says then with a sad sort of smile. "A profiler, actually." He laughs a little, throwing his hands up in the air. "Now I'm...I'm just like you."
He doesn't want to admit it but it's nice, knowing that there's someone who understand. Sure, many people have been displaced by the Rift but there's something different about too, a unique flavor of loss that he didn't entirely think anyone understood.
:D :D I approve of all of this.fuckinpenguinsNovember 25 2010, 02:52:12 UTC
There's no way back. Deb spent her first day in Chicago flinging curses at complete strangers when she got told that one. It's still... she knows it's true, but it's something she does anything to quit from thinking about.
It doesn't work all that much.
"Yeah, I was. Miami Metro Homicide." There's both pride and regret in her voice - pride, that she'd finally gotten what she'd strived for, and regret that she never got to do anything with it. "I'd show you my shield, but the Rift decided finder's keepers."
Her eyes widen and Spencer's info drop. "Fuck, seriously?" She doesn't laugh, but she definitely looks impressed. The police force's rocky relationship with the Feds aside, getting that far is - impressive. "I guess you are," she says.
There's a pause, and Deb glances down at her coffee, not really seeing much of anything. She's thinking about what it means to be a cop without a job. There's never a minute - not a fucking one - where she isn't thinking like a cop. Where she doesn't feel like one, even if
( ... )
See, he didn't think to get angry, instead he got together as much research as he possibly could on the Rift and tried his damnedest to find a way back.
Obviously that didn't go well.
After that he locked himself in his room for several days and well, he's still trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now that he's trapped here.
Sad thing is, he doubts he'll ever figure out what that is. He nods at her information, taking a sip of his coffee after. Someone could argue that it's not the same, that while they both worked under the same general field their specifics were different. In a different situation he might even be that person but not today.
Today he's grateful that there's someone out there who gets it<. The way you think, the way you act. The way that it feels to have all of that responsibility and stress and purpose and everything stripped away from you.
"Since July," he informs and, remembering that they had started introductions adds, "I'm Spencer, by the way. It's nice to meet you." And he means it too.
Anger is Deb's first response to a lot of things. Being tossed into Grant Park after finally starting to make something of her life? Kind of a great way to get her there.
And taking her brother from her, well, that's taking the fucking cake right there.
Deb is grateful, too. Most of the people she's met here, they're natives, or if they're Wanderers then they're used to a level of weird that Deb's not sure she'll ever get accustomed to. Fucking angels and demons and monsters. Deb uses to think her life was weird enough.
"Spencer," she repeats, smiling faintly. She nods and then finishes off her first cup of coffee before pouring another. Deb spends a lot of her time working out, and if nothing else, she could use the energy for that.
"I showed up here in August," Deb says. "First person I met was a damn angel." She laughs a little, shaking her head. "I really wasn't ready for that."
Spencer doesn't have that excuse, he's just having the coffee for the sake of having it. So maybe he's on his third cup, at least he seems to be going slower with each cup instead of faster.
Laughing a little, he shakes his head. "I've got one better. I showed up, was met by a demon and found out that in this universe, I'm a fictional character."
He still hasn't gone seeking out his show yet. He doesn't know if he ever will either. It would all be far too odd, he suspects. He's thought about it though, he's thought about it more times then he would ever care to admit.
Deb stares at him for a long, long time. Her immediate reaction, pre-Chicago, would be to laugh, maybe smack him on the arm and say no fucking way. But in this city -
"Jesus," she breathes out, because it'd be her first response if someone told her that. "I'm sorry."
If she found out something similar, she thinks she'd have to know. As much as it would freak her the fuck out, she'd want to know.
It's okay," he says even though it's not. It's something that weighed on him for a while, whether he should go look. It taunted him when he didn't have anything to think about.
It still does.
He won't look though, not now. Maybe one day when the life he used to live is further away. Right now everything is still far too close for comfort.
He looks down at his coffee, re-thinking the slow pace he's been trying to get going and downs what's left in the cup.
There is a part of him that's seriously considering getting alcohol but he's resisting the temptation. With the way he's downing his coffee, he suspects that anything that would get him inebriated is not the best choice.
She nods, even though she knows it isn't, either. Deb's a top fucking expert at pretending she's fine when she's not - when really, she's breaking apart at the seams. That year after everything with Rudy - Brian - whoever - it was all she could do to keep moving.
At least back home, she had somewhere to move.
"Listen," she says, considering Spencer. "I was going to go for a run after this. Maybe just get out of the fuckin' Tower." She offers him a small smile, awkward but genuine. "You're welcome to come, if you want. You can be my backup in case any fucking monsters show up."
This sounds like a joke, but it's actually not. Deb was almost monster food not too long ago. Luckily, the Rift's gifted her with a gun that never runs out of bullets.
Back home he was in the middle of honing the craft of pretending to be okay. He wasn't doing a very good job at it, everyone knew there was something wrong with him, it was like he had a sign around his neck. Then again, considering his coworkers and what he'd been through, he can't be that surprised.
"A run?" He considers it for a moment. "Why not." He smiles a bit awkwardly. "It's not like I'm going to be able to sleep with the caffeine running through my system." He has no regreets though, not a one.
He gets to his feet, putting his cup in the sink then turning to Deb. "You're serious," he starts. "About the monsters, aren't you?" He laughs. "This city..."
He doesn't know what to say about it, he really doesn't but if he did, it probably wouldn't be good.
"Great," Deb says, grinning. She'd be the last person to say it - not unless someone decided to Irish up her coffee - but she's been pretty lonely. She could use the company.
Deb finishes off her second cup, then rinses out the glass with a small wince. "As a fucking heart attack," she says. "A while back I was in the park and this thing came out of nowhere. This huge beast with blue fur and teeth and everything. It was like something out of a cartoon."
It wasn't funny at the time - it was fucking terrifying was what it was - but Deb can't help the bitter laugh that escapes her. "This city makes a homicide case look like a damn cakewalk."
But that's not stopping Deb from getting out of the Tower. From living her life, as much as she can right now. Maybe her purpose is lost, but Deb keeps going. Keeps breathing. Stays on her feet when the only thing letting her do that is caffeine and rage and beneath it all, determination.
Her purpose is gone, but she isn't. "Come on," she says. "Let's get out of here."
If he were behing honest with himself (which, since he's come to the city and even before that, he's made a point of not doing) he would admit that he was probably just as lonely. Tabitha was a sweet girl but as soon as he met her he knew he couldn't spend much time with her. She was a fan of the show he was supposedly on. That just was too strange
( ... )
But Deb needs coffee like fucking oxygen, and this stuff is free. Bonus. She comes into the kitchen just in time to see Spencer pouring disgusting amounts of milk and sugar into what was probably a perfectly good cup of coffee.
Yeah, Deb's sort of a purist.
"Jesus," she says. "How can you even drink that?"
Hi also works, Debra. Sorry, Spencer.
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"The milk cools it down," he answers, misinterpreting her statement even though it's far from the first time someone has commented on his coffee habits.
Someone should probably tell him to back off of the coffee but that's not going to happen any time soon. The alternative to staying awake is sleeping and his head isn't really behaving in a manner that's conductive to sleep.
Considering a moment, he reaches into the cabinet and pulls down another cup, holding it out to her. He assumes that if she's here to observe him drinking coffee, she would be turning to leave by now. The alternative dictates it's either coffee or food and all things considering...
"Do you want a cup?"
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"I meant all that milk and sugar," she says, pulling a face. Whether it cools the coffee down or not, Deb'd rather burn the fuck out of her mouth.
She takes the cup from him, though, because she isn't actually here to criticize anyone's drinking habits. Especially someone she doesn't know.
"Thanks," she says. She pours herself a cup and adds the smallest amount of sugar. Once she's had a few sips - eyes flickering in happiness like an addict because damn, that's good - she turns her attention back to Spencer.
"Long night?"
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"It's good," he finishes, this time drinking his coffee a little slower, though not by much. "And it keeps me awake. I used to work long hours back home."
Even if she was, he probably wouldn't care, he's heard it all before and it's something normal. Not Rift-normal, not this new dullness that has settled in around him but the normality that had been a part of his own life. Even if the mocking came from a stranger, it was almost nice.
How sad is that, he muses to himself but he forces the thoughts away in favor of paying attention to her again.
"No," he admits with a shrug. "Just...Bored. I have nothing to do." He laughs and it's almost a bitter sound. "Still haven't really settled in around here
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But he can't. There's no way back and he doubts there ever w8ill be.
"Wait what?" He looks at her in surprise. "You were a detective?" It feels stupid but he's surprised. He hadn't met that many people but none of them seemed to be law enforcement and most of them seemed to have adjusted to their new surroundings a lot better than he did.
""I was FBI," he says then with a sad sort of smile. "A profiler, actually." He laughs a little, throwing his hands up in the air. "Now I'm...I'm just like you."
He doesn't want to admit it but it's nice, knowing that there's someone who understand. Sure, many people have been displaced by the Rift but there's something different about too, a unique flavor of loss that he didn't entirely think anyone understood.
He's glad to be wrong.
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It doesn't work all that much.
"Yeah, I was. Miami Metro Homicide." There's both pride and regret in her voice - pride, that she'd finally gotten what she'd strived for, and regret that she never got to do anything with it. "I'd show you my shield, but the Rift decided finder's keepers."
Her eyes widen and Spencer's info drop. "Fuck, seriously?" She doesn't laugh, but she definitely looks impressed. The police force's rocky relationship with the Feds aside, getting that far is - impressive. "I guess you are," she says.
There's a pause, and Deb glances down at her coffee, not really seeing much of anything. She's thinking about what it means to be a cop without a job. There's never a minute - not a fucking one - where she isn't thinking like a cop. Where she doesn't feel like one, even if ( ... )
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Obviously that didn't go well.
After that he locked himself in his room for several days and well, he's still trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now that he's trapped here.
Sad thing is, he doubts he'll ever figure out what that is.
He nods at her information, taking a sip of his coffee after. Someone could argue that it's not the same, that while they both worked under the same general field their specifics were different. In a different situation he might even be that person but not today.
Today he's grateful that there's someone out there who gets it<. The way you think, the way you act. The way that it feels to have all of that responsibility and stress and purpose and everything stripped away from you.
"Since July," he informs and, remembering that they had started introductions adds, "I'm Spencer, by the way. It's nice to meet you." And he means it too.
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And taking her brother from her, well, that's taking the fucking cake right there.
Deb is grateful, too. Most of the people she's met here, they're natives, or if they're Wanderers then they're used to a level of weird that Deb's not sure she'll ever get accustomed to. Fucking angels and demons and monsters. Deb uses to think her life was weird enough.
"Spencer," she repeats, smiling faintly. She nods and then finishes off her first cup of coffee before pouring another. Deb spends a lot of her time working out, and if nothing else, she could use the energy for that.
"I showed up here in August," Deb says. "First person I met was a damn angel." She laughs a little, shaking her head. "I really wasn't ready for that."
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Laughing a little, he shakes his head. "I've got one better. I showed up, was met by a demon and found out that in this universe, I'm a fictional character."
He still hasn't gone seeking out his show yet. He doesn't know if he ever will either. It would all be far too odd, he suspects. He's thought about it though, he's thought about it more times then he would ever care to admit.
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"Jesus," she breathes out, because it'd be her first response if someone told her that. "I'm sorry."
If she found out something similar, she thinks she'd have to know. As much as it would freak her the fuck out, she'd want to know.
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It still does.
He won't look though, not now. Maybe one day when the life he used to live is further away. Right now everything is still far too close for comfort.
He looks down at his coffee, re-thinking the slow pace he's been trying to get going and downs what's left in the cup.
There is a part of him that's seriously considering getting alcohol but he's resisting the temptation. With the way he's downing his coffee, he suspects that anything that would get him inebriated is not the best choice.
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At least back home, she had somewhere to move.
"Listen," she says, considering Spencer. "I was going to go for a run after this. Maybe just get out of the fuckin' Tower." She offers him a small smile, awkward but genuine. "You're welcome to come, if you want. You can be my backup in case any fucking monsters show up."
This sounds like a joke, but it's actually not. Deb was almost monster food not too long ago. Luckily, the Rift's gifted her with a gun that never runs out of bullets.
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"A run?" He considers it for a moment. "Why not." He smiles a bit awkwardly. "It's not like I'm going to be able to sleep with the caffeine running through my system." He has no regreets though, not a one.
He gets to his feet, putting his cup in the sink then turning to Deb. "You're serious," he starts. "About the monsters, aren't you?" He laughs. "This city..."
He doesn't know what to say about it, he really doesn't but if he did, it probably wouldn't be good.
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Deb finishes off her second cup, then rinses out the glass with a small wince. "As a fucking heart attack," she says. "A while back I was in the park and this thing came out of nowhere. This huge beast with blue fur and teeth and everything. It was like something out of a cartoon."
It wasn't funny at the time - it was fucking terrifying was what it was - but Deb can't help the bitter laugh that escapes her. "This city makes a homicide case look like a damn cakewalk."
But that's not stopping Deb from getting out of the Tower. From living her life, as much as she can right now. Maybe her purpose is lost, but Deb keeps going. Keeps breathing. Stays on her feet when the only thing letting her do that is caffeine and rage and beneath it all, determination.
Her purpose is gone, but she isn't. "Come on," she says. "Let's get out of here."
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