Gideon had been heading over back to his hut. The fact he noticed someone that looked familiar wasn't all that big a fucking deal - he saw plenty of people with the faces of movie stars walking around every day. It was what she was smoking that made him pause.
"That a real cigarette?" he asked, raising a brow at who he expected was not actually Gwyneth Paltrow. He was so used to the smell of the smoke from the shitty kind that could be made on the island that it was hard to miss.
What a strange question. "I didn't ask," Margot said simply. She took a drag to illustrate her point and blew a smoke ring at the new face. Another one she didn't recognize. She was sensing a trend here.
Closer now, he could definitely see that shit wasn't from the island. It was enough to make him ignore her kind of being a bitch for the moment.
"New, right?" he guessed, eying her up and down for a moment. "Or are you really fucking good at rationing? You're not going to find decent ones like that around here once you run out, if you're wondering. Just a bunch of handmade shit."
He figured he'd be nice and let the chick know something he hadn't been told in the beginning. He sure as hell wished he'd saved his supply for a while.
Margot's expression changed subtly, in that her frown became slightly more pronounced.
She definitely hadn't come prepared. To be fair, she hadn't known that she would be walking off the bridge and onto a beach on an island without a tobacconist.
So she was new. Well, that sucked for her. Gideon, for the most part, didn't really do the whole pity thing for newer people. The island wasn't so bad, all things considered.
"Yeah, welcome to the fucking island, huh?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "You just show up or something?"
"Or something," Margot said. She seemed amused by his cavalier attitude, if the tiniest quirk at the corner of her lips was any indication. She puffed idly on her cigarette.
"I take it you're not part of the welcoming committee."
"Hey, I'm one of the fucking best at it," he joked, smirking. Honestly, he never really was good at this, which was probably more than obvious as he kept speaking. "I mean, the saps that go around trying to cheer new people up and shit aren't going to tell it to you straight. Don't get me wrong, though. I actually don't mind it here. Besides the weird shit, it's a pretty easy life to live."
"I did say there was shitty ones," he countered. They at least gave a little of what he'd lost showing up here. It was a a fair trade off for the shit he did have here. "And yeah, I have a name. Gideon Sparks. I'm from Connecticut originally. You?"
"Margot Tenenbaum. New York," answered Margot, looking speculatively at her cigarette. She probably ought to start saving them now; she only had two and a half packets on her.
She pinched it out between her thumb and wooden finger and reached into her coat for the open packet, sliding the half-finished tobacco cylinder home.
He figured she was from Earth. Admittedly, though, he liked assuming that in general. People from other worlds and shit like that still messed with him. The name rang a bell in a way a lot of names did for him. He'd figure out why later.
"You'll get used to introducing yourself that way. There's people running around from other fucking planets here, so it's kind of needed," he said, rolling his eyes. "Other times, too. You get told all that?"
That was a fucking new one to him. It was no less ridiculous than anything else, though.
"No one fucking knows why we're here," he replied in a shrug, shaking his head. "You'd think they'd figure it out, especially since there's a bunch of genius science types around here too, but if anyone knows, I haven't heard it in the two years I've been here."
"Two years?" Margot's usually disinterested gaze was suddenly on him, sharp and unwavering. She wasn't sure how long she'd expected to be stuck here. She already had a half-formed mental picture of Richie turning up on his boat to rescue her. But not if she had to wait years.
"And people have been here longer than that," he said, shrugging. He never did do sympathy well, especially when this shit wasn't all that bad. "Though some people left after being here for less time. It's kind of random."
"That a real cigarette?" he asked, raising a brow at who he expected was not actually Gwyneth Paltrow. He was so used to the smell of the smoke from the shitty kind that could be made on the island that it was hard to miss.
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It wasn't necessarily a bad one.
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"New, right?" he guessed, eying her up and down for a moment. "Or are you really fucking good at rationing? You're not going to find decent ones like that around here once you run out, if you're wondering. Just a bunch of handmade shit."
He figured he'd be nice and let the chick know something he hadn't been told in the beginning. He sure as hell wished he'd saved his supply for a while.
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She definitely hadn't come prepared. To be fair, she hadn't known that she would be walking off the bridge and onto a beach on an island without a tobacconist.
"That's a shame."
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"Yeah, welcome to the fucking island, huh?" he asked, rolling his eyes. "You just show up or something?"
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"I take it you're not part of the welcoming committee."
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"Do you have a name?"
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She pinched it out between her thumb and wooden finger and reached into her coat for the open packet, sliding the half-finished tobacco cylinder home.
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"You'll get used to introducing yourself that way. There's people running around from other fucking planets here, so it's kind of needed," he said, rolling his eyes. "Other times, too. You get told all that?"
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She put away her cigarettes with a hint of reluctance.
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"No one fucking knows why we're here," he replied in a shrug, shaking his head. "You'd think they'd figure it out, especially since there's a bunch of genius science types around here too, but if anyone knows, I haven't heard it in the two years I've been here."
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Margot was used to not having choices.
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