There's a face that Chicago doesn't see all that often sitting in one corner of The Luna Bar, enjoying a whiskey sour and taking a moment to relax. To say that Adam has been busy lately would be the understatement of the millennium. It's not exactly easy to run worldwide criminal organization and it's even harder to figure out a good way to
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Peter's day is not going so well. He's got the forged paperwork showing he's licensed to be a nurse, but what good is that if he doesn't remember all his training? He's tried studying up on his own, but, really, he's just not that good at it, not outside the structure of regular classes and instructors and hands-on experience.
The beer arrives, and Peter's got more polite words and smiles for the barkeep. Once she drifts away to help another customer, however, the smile fades, and he reaches up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, before he begins nursing his beer.
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Adam's been in this universe a lot longer than a lot of people realize and while he never really thought of anyone showing up here from his universe, the fact that someone (besides Sylar- Lord knows he could do without Sylar) has and it's Peter, of all people.
Well. Let's just say Adam's day has brightened significantly.
"Peter Petrelli," he says casually, but loudly enough for Peter to hear him, picking up his whiskey and giving the contents a good twirl. There's a chance that there just might be a spectacular double running around, so it's always good to be sure of these things.
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"I, uh." Clearly this is somebody who knows him. He thinks of how badly his meeting with Claire went and his stomach ties itself into a knot. Shit. He's racking his brains but he cannot come up with a name to go with this face.
"Hello." What was it he'd say? ...Who'd say it? There was somebody, somebody he knows who's really good with words. He can't think of that guy's name, either, but he knows what that guy would say.
"'Fraid you've got me at a disadvantage. You know my name but I can't seem to place your face. Sorry."
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He moves down a few chairs, closer to Peter. "Adam? We were going to save the world, provided you're not too focused on rescuing cheerleaders these days. Don't tell me it's the Haitian again."
Not that Peter will have any idea what any of that means if it was the Haitian, but Adam's going to put on a good show anyway.
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But she doesn't spot them as she walks into the bar, her green eyes scanning the layout and the people who are gathered. Breathing a sigh of relief, she moves behind the bar and tosses her purse into the usual area. She looks around as she fetches her apron and notices one man sitting in the corner. Pushing some hair back from her face, she keeps an eye on him and his glass.
After a bit, she wanders over. "Can I get you another?"
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"Please," he responds, giving her a cursory glance that's too quick to be considered anything less than innocent. "You'll have to forgive me for saying so, because I'm certain you hear it often, but you look a bit young to be a bartender."
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At the comment, she looks briefly amused but it's a strange reaction. It's not a warm reaction that reaches her eyes, it's merely a huff of a laugh as she rolls her eyes. "It's the genes." There's something in her tone that's sarcastic like she's going, Yay, go me?
"I'll be right back with your drink." She scoots away and then pauses, glancing back. "What were you drinking?" She's still learning, so excuse her.
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He used to get that a lot, but not so much here, for obvious reasons. Somehow... He's getting it again.
All of that thinking doesn't cross his face, however. He just shrugs at her sarcasm and his smirk widens a bit when she glances back. "Whiskey sour..."
He trails off, indicating his desire to be supplied with her name. Maybe he's just going crazy, but there does seem to be something familiar about her, even if it's just little things.
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She has just discovered soda. She likes it.
The little girlcat takes a slurp of her drink, grunting like a Manleh Thing. "Howabout them apples, Swordswallower?"
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None of that he is thinking where she can hear it, of course.
"Hello, Cy. Staying out of trouble?"
If she wasn't, he'd probably hear about it. People like Cy make loud noises when they want to.
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"Assuming you mean who I think you mean, of course," he says, arching a brow at her.
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