Claire likes working at the diner; she's not happy, but she's content, and she's learned not to ask for too much more. She notices the new guy in her section and comes wandering up immediately, nametag reading 'Sandra' (like it always will, if she has her way), skirt entirely too short, smile firmly in place. It's not fake at all. Today has been a pretty good day, so far.
"Hi! I'm Sandra, I'm gonna take care of you today--what can I getcha to start off with?" She tilts her head, clicking her pen in preparation for his drink order.
The accent is more pronounced than it used to be. Some of that is natural. Some of it isn't.
Content is probably better than a lot of people have it; West will never come to this sensible realization, or learn how to stop asking for anything less than happiness. Sardonic, snarky determination with a side of gallows humor is doing him for now, though.
He smiles back at her, a little rougher and not as easily as he did once, but this girl? In whatever universe, she has an amazing smile. "How's your coffee, Sandra?" The glance at her nametag is quick, perfunctory. "I'm gonna order it even if it tastes like axle grease, I just want to see if you'll tell me."
"It's not bad, but I tend to take it as 'sugar with a little coffee,' so..." She grins at him, leaning her hip on the booth chair opposing his. "Your menu iiiis--right here."
Claire hands one over, and goes to go retrieve some deliciously bad coffee.
All diner coffee is deliciously bad, and if the patrons are lucky, has roughly the same strength as heroin. If these things are not true, it is not diner coffee, okay.
West flips aimlessly through the menu; he already knows what he wants, but it's sort of protocol, and sometimes it feels good to do things like...well, like things aren't the way they are, like greasy diner food and flirting a little with his waitress aren't luxuries or risks.
He folds his hands in front of his face, leaning on them, just indulging, because...well, because West likes risk a little too much. As we'll probably see.
Claire returns with the coffee, dipping the grey steel container to pour West exactly that! She is a helper, she is. Unfortunately, this is about when a burly patron knocks into her, spilling hot coffee all over her wrist. Ouch! She makes a noise like air being sucked through her teeth, hissing, and sets the coffee down in a hurry.
"Sorry," she murmurs, turning away, hand still firmly over the place where the coffee hit her, "Just a second."
West stands up so fast he almost falls over, because tall + booth = that. "Hey--lemme help you." No one is ever going to accuse him of being the world's nicest guy, but he can be solicitous when the situation calls.
He also, it is to be noted, says something unconscionably rude to the guy who knocked into Claire. The last five years have done nothing to blunt the sharpness he can have.
If she'll let him, he'll try to get a hold on her arm so he can see how bad the burn is. (Hint: it isn't.)
Claire would ordinarily give him a very arch look for that rudeness to the strange dude, but right now she's focused on how to lie, and fast. Five years have moderately increased her skills in these matters, but maybe not as much as they would've in anyone else.
"It's fine," she starts, already healed, fortunately, "I--guess it wasn't that hot."
She dabs at the coffee, hastily, smiling. "I should probably get you new coffee, then, right?"
Claire Bennet: giving West arch looks since within seconds of meeting him, in all universes ever.
"I can stand the caffeine deprivation for a few minutes," he deadpans, not looking particularly interested in not being about three inches away from her, "while you go put water on that. Let me see," he harasses, finally succeeding in wrapping an extremely long set of fingers around her forearm --
-- and here is where we find out West is a hell of a lot better at lying than Claire; the tone of his voice downshifts with no audible hitch at all. "Oh, I guess you're right." Pretty, pretty smile. "Sorry for grabbing you."
The look in his eyes does not match this at all, by the by, which is why it may not be a huge surprise when he leans forward enough to whisper in her ear. West can do this with some subtlety. "Cellular regeneration is a pretty neat trick."
Claire doesn't jerk away, because that would draw attention; she smiles in her forced, valiantly attempting normalcy way, and thinks maybe, for a split second, that he bought it. And then he's very near, all up in her personal space (what if Andy sees? There is, after all, that engagement ring on her finger), and:
The color drains out of her face, and she very firmly, with that false calm he might recognize, pulls away from him. "Excuse me."
Time to hurry away, thaaaank you!
Andy's nearby; he sees her expression, and puts his hand on his shoulder. She tells him she doesn't feel well and is going to take a break in the back (which is actually away from the kitchens), and could Andy take her tables for a second?
West watches Claire communicate with Baron Von Douchebag the blond guy in what is a decidedly intimate manner, files it away, and...concludes that the guy's presence is utterly unimportant. He's between West and something that interests him, and is therefore automatically regulated to Non-entity.
This kind of thinking, by the way, does not often do him any favors. JUST FOR REFERENCE. To the point: West stops Andy on his way to a table to ask where the bathroom is. It's a gamble; if the bathrooms are nowhere near the back this is going to look weirder, but fortunately they're in the same direction.
He creeps around the back of the restaurant, being mostly successful at evading other employees, partially by dint of their presence being relatively sparse by this time of night, and partially--well. There are reasons he's still alive to be doing this
( ... )
This isn't the nicest thing in the world, but to Claire, Andy is more of a symptom of her need for normalcy than a boyfriend.
But she'll never admit it, so.
She's looking for a bottled water in the drink fridge, and has it in hand when she hears his voice. Immediately, she whirls, eyes wide, and very nearly drops the water bottle. There's silence, for a few seconds, and then she tilts her chin up a sort of a 'come here' gesture. Paranoia is something they both ought to be familiar with, by now.
"Come in, and close the door behind you."
No messing around at all. She believes him, but having powers doesn't mean you're trustworthy. (Here, she will determinedly not think of the President.)
West does this without question, looking weirdly pleased by her directness. When he crosses the room he stands just a little too close for comfort, probably; it's not menacing, but it is very much like he's trying to amplify his presence, which really doesn't need doing.
"I'm West," he tells her, and says a lot about him that he told her what he could do before he told her his name, "...Sandra."
There are audible air quotes. "You don't belong here." That smile is back, along with the weird, unshakable certainty that either makes him intensely magnetic or incredibly creepy, give or take a degree of expression.
She leans against a counter, half-sitting on an empty expanse of it while she regards him cautiously. It could be a trap, but he never would have known if she hadn't spilled that coffee.
West, those barbed little air quotes will not be responded to -- her fake name is one of those things she'll cling to, for some reason. Until she has no option but to 'fess up, of course, which...if anyone can get her there? It'll probably be the guy right in front of her.
"Really? That's funny, 'cause I have a nametag. Among other things."
Other things that are large, blond, and hopefully very busy out there in the restaurant.
"That's--it's just a label. It has nothing to do with who you are." West, dismissive out of hand? NEVER.
He gestures at the hand she becoffee'd, not actually touching her again, but...damn close, really. "What you can do, it's amazing. It's a gift. You shouldn't have to hide it."
When he looks back out toward the restaurant proper (through...the wall, presumably), he looks almost bored, and sounds it. Because Blond Guy is boring, he has decided. "Does he know? I'm guessing he couldn't handle it."
Probably, Claire, you should just punch this guy in the head.
The look she gives him is incredulous--what does he know about who she is? (For that matter, what does she?)
Amazing. She's not so sure about that, but he's not predatory about it, not really. Claire's posture is still defensive, but minutely less so. Only minutely, though. "That's not exactly possible unless I want to end up in a lab somewhere--or worse."
And she does know there's worse.
.....y helo thar, guilt. "He doesn't know, and I don't want him to find out. I'm going to marry him."
He actually flinches for a second, which is kind of an incredible feat these days (Claires all over are able to get to Wests in a way that no one else can, it's a rule), but the expression slithers away like mercury from a broken thermometer. "There are people you can go to. It's not safe, not like hiding is, but--it would be better."
There's a pause, during which Claire is probably planning to like, refute the fuck out of that, but then: "Do you love him?"
'And would he love you if he knew?' hangs in the air between them like a subtitle.
"Hi! I'm Sandra, I'm gonna take care of you today--what can I getcha to start off with?" She tilts her head, clicking her pen in preparation for his drink order.
The accent is more pronounced than it used to be. Some of that is natural. Some of it isn't.
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He smiles back at her, a little rougher and not as easily as he did once, but this girl? In whatever universe, she has an amazing smile. "How's your coffee, Sandra?" The glance at her nametag is quick, perfunctory. "I'm gonna order it even if it tastes like axle grease, I just want to see if you'll tell me."
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Claire hands one over, and goes to go retrieve some deliciously bad coffee.
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West flips aimlessly through the menu; he already knows what he wants, but it's sort of protocol, and sometimes it feels good to do things like...well, like things aren't the way they are, like greasy diner food and flirting a little with his waitress aren't luxuries or risks.
He folds his hands in front of his face, leaning on them, just indulging, because...well, because West likes risk a little too much. As we'll probably see.
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"Sorry," she murmurs, turning away, hand still firmly over the place where the coffee hit her, "Just a second."
Oh, God, she hopes no one saw that.
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He also, it is to be noted, says something unconscionably rude to the guy who knocked into Claire. The last five years have done nothing to blunt the sharpness he can have.
If she'll let him, he'll try to get a hold on her arm so he can see how bad the burn is. (Hint: it isn't.)
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"It's fine," she starts, already healed, fortunately, "I--guess it wasn't that hot."
She dabs at the coffee, hastily, smiling. "I should probably get you new coffee, then, right?"
aaa must evade notice
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"I can stand the caffeine deprivation for a few minutes," he deadpans, not looking particularly interested in not being about three inches away from her, "while you go put water on that. Let me see," he harasses, finally succeeding in wrapping an extremely long set of fingers around her forearm --
-- and here is where we find out West is a hell of a lot better at lying than Claire; the tone of his voice downshifts with no audible hitch at all. "Oh, I guess you're right." Pretty, pretty smile. "Sorry for grabbing you."
The look in his eyes does not match this at all, by the by, which is why it may not be a huge surprise when he leans forward enough to whisper in her ear. West can do this with some subtlety. "Cellular regeneration is a pretty neat trick."
Haha. Uh. .....yay?
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The color drains out of her face, and she very firmly, with that false calm he might recognize, pulls away from him. "Excuse me."
Time to hurry away, thaaaank you!
Andy's nearby; he sees her expression, and puts his hand on his shoulder. She tells him she doesn't feel well and is going to take a break in the back (which is actually away from the kitchens), and could Andy take her tables for a second?
So he does, and so she goes. Fuck.
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This kind of thinking, by the way, does not often do him any favors. JUST FOR REFERENCE. To the point: West stops Andy on his way to a table to ask where the bathroom is. It's a gamble; if the bathrooms are nowhere near the back this is going to look weirder, but fortunately they're in the same direction.
He creeps around the back of the restaurant, being mostly successful at evading other employees, partially by dint of their presence being relatively sparse by this time of night, and partially--well. There are reasons he's still alive to be doing this ( ... )
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But she'll never admit it, so.
She's looking for a bottled water in the drink fridge, and has it in hand when she hears his voice. Immediately, she whirls, eyes wide, and very nearly drops the water bottle. There's silence, for a few seconds, and then she tilts her chin up a sort of a 'come here' gesture. Paranoia is something they both ought to be familiar with, by now.
"Come in, and close the door behind you."
No messing around at all. She believes him, but having powers doesn't mean you're trustworthy. (Here, she will determinedly not think of the President.)
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"I'm West," he tells her, and says a lot about him that he told her what he could do before he told her his name, "...Sandra."
There are audible air quotes. "You don't belong here." That smile is back, along with the weird, unshakable certainty that either makes him intensely magnetic or incredibly creepy, give or take a degree of expression.
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West, those barbed little air quotes will not be responded to -- her fake name is one of those things she'll cling to, for some reason. Until she has no option but to 'fess up, of course, which...if anyone can get her there? It'll probably be the guy right in front of her.
"Really? That's funny, 'cause I have a nametag. Among other things."
Other things that are large, blond, and hopefully very busy out there in the restaurant.
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He gestures at the hand she becoffee'd, not actually touching her again, but...damn close, really. "What you can do, it's amazing. It's a gift. You shouldn't have to hide it."
When he looks back out toward the restaurant proper (through...the wall, presumably), he looks almost bored, and sounds it. Because Blond Guy is boring, he has decided. "Does he know? I'm guessing he couldn't handle it."
Probably, Claire, you should just punch this guy in the head.
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Amazing. She's not so sure about that, but he's not predatory about it, not really. Claire's posture is still defensive, but minutely less so. Only minutely, though. "That's not exactly possible unless I want to end up in a lab somewhere--or worse."
And she does know there's worse.
.....y helo thar, guilt. "He doesn't know, and I don't want him to find out. I'm going to marry him."
She feels compelled to add that detail.
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There's a pause, during which Claire is probably planning to like, refute the fuck out of that, but then: "Do you love him?"
'And would he love you if he knew?' hangs in the air between them like a subtitle.
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