Doc's appropriated a table today, along with some small bowls and spoons. He also has two containers of ice cream he's filched from the Conrad, chocolate and vanilla (he plans to replace them later). He himself is finishing off the remains of a sundae as he mans his mini ice cream bar. "If anyone wants a treat, feel free to take some," he says,
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Comments 194
"Happy birthday!" She curls up next to him on a chair - please forgive her her familiarity, Doc. Emmy does this sometimes. "I feel every bleedin' minute of my age sometimes, but today I feel about as old as I look." Grin. "Good genes."
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Doc looks a little surprised at the close quarters, but doesn't say anything. "Thanks," he replies. He grins back at her comment. "That's good. I know about feeling every minute of your age sometimes. I'm just glad today isn't one of those days." Feeling 67 at the moment might make him kind of depressed.
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"Mmmhm. I'll be eight hundred and twenty nine in November." she thinks, anyway. She's not too sure just how old she is, nor does she really remember her date of birth. Her family hadn't exactly recorded those types of things. "So what did you wish for?"
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Doc blinks a few times, taken aback. "Great Scott. That's a lot to feel sometimes." He thought 67 was starting to get old. . . . He frowns a little at the next question. "I didn't really think of that," he admits. "Not sure what I would wish for. Besides for no further catastrophes to happen in Chicago, but I'm certain that's not happening anytime soon."
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"Thanks," he says, nodding at her. "I've had those days too. Mostly when the city I'm currently living in decides to throw another catastrophe at us." He shakes his head. "I don't know what Chicago might be like where you're from, but in my world, it's -- well, insane."
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Then he frowns, looking a bit puzzled. "Only made it to --" This encounter got even more interesting. "Are you -- some sort of ghost?"
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He considers the question, easing down into a chair, "Great that you feel young, you must take care of yourself pretty well. I usually feel older than I am by a few decades... mostly."
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"I -- uh -- try," Doc says -- just in time for a little steam to hiss out his back. He glares at it. "I suppose I've had some 'help' on that front. . . ." The way he says "help" makes it sound kind of dirty. He frowns sympathetically at the other man. "I'm sorry to hear that. Tough life, I assume?"
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Ghost glances away, and then back again, "When you dedicate yourself to a cause--hheh--you let other things deteriorate--tree of liberty, blood of martyrs..." He sounds pleased, anyway, "If it didn't hurt I'd be doing it wrong, I'm not fishing for pity. I'm Ghost. What's your name?"
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"I see," Doc says. "I get that way with my experiments sometimes." He does, too. "I'm Dr. Emmett Brown."
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I feel maybe 23 years old. It probably helps that I don't remember the first 13 years of my life.
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That statement gets a bit of a wince from him. "I see. I suppose that would help. . . ." Sorry, anything to do with forgotten memories does tend to bring up a few unpleasant ones for him. "How old are you by the calendar?"
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