(Untitled)

[giftedthom]

*The back door opens, and Thom drifts in. He looks terrible: wet through with snow, wearing last week's thin black clothes. He goes on bare feet to a table, sits down, and rests his chin in his hands; closes his eyes.

After a few minutes, he shivers, opens them, and orders Atlantean.*

Comments

[eldorne_girl]

Thom?

[giftedthom]

Hey, Delia.

[eldorne_girl]

[bluntly]

You look terrible.

[giftedthom]

*He laughs.* If I look half as bad as you do, I should go into hiding immediately.

*And drinks.*

[eldorne_girl]

No one could possibly look as lovely as I do, so you shouldn't even try.

[she does, however, sit down in a rustle of silk skirts]

[giftedthom]

That's my laughing Dell -- always putting me down.

[eldorne_girl]

It's good for your ego.

[giftedthom]

I think my ego is just fine.

[eldorne_girl]

Of course it is.

[giftedthom]

You should . . . buy me a drink.

[eldorne_girl]

How about I buy you a shirt before you fall ill?

[giftedthom]

I can't fall ill.

[eldorne_girl]

Humour me.

[giftedthom]

No. I want to be cold.

[eldorne_girl]

Why?

[giftedthom]

Because I hate it.