Thursday morning, Compound kitchen. The coffee maker to be exact. You'd think with no crime to fight and more time to sleep, I could go without. You'd be wrong
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She's aching everywhere, from her head -- god, her head -- right on down, but to her rather dazed brain the feet seem positively gratuitous; it's not even as if she's been doing anything exciting with them for the last few days.
She pads gingerly into the kitchen, managing a rather pained smile when she catches sight of Dick and the blessed, blessed coffee maker.
"Morning." She yawns hugely, swallowing half the word.
"Hmm," Dick says almost cheerfully. "Someone who needs the coffee more than me."
He can't help noticing she's walking like she hurts, but he can hold his curiosity until she's caffeinated. His concern won't wait though. "You look like you lost a battle with something meaner than you." He ought to know. Tossing her a nod, he adds, "Why don't you sit? I'll bring you a cup."
Of course he knows how she takes it. He pays attention. Changes in routine behaviors can be indicators of possession, stress, coercion. It's important to know.
"And then it crawled into my head and died there."
She drops into the nearest chair, rather less than gracefully, and runs her hands carefully through her hair; she's got a nasty sinking feeling about a few of the things she remembers from the day before, and she flinches almost as much from that as from the sharp, reverberating ache that makes its presence felt when she pulls a bit too hard at a tangle.
"Apparently after bringing some of its friends along. You are quite possibly some sort of god among men."
Hangover. She drinks too much; he's noticed already. Her business, unless it causes a problem, but maybe he'll casually suggest Roy get closer to her. If anyone knows how an addiction can screw up your life, it's Roy.
Smile warm and easy, Dick brings the two cups to the table, plus a glass of water, quietly sets her coffee and the water in front of her, spins a chair quietly for himself, and straddles it, arms over the back.
"So I've been told," he answers, mischief playing in bright eyes. "I don't believe it, of course. I'm just an ordinary boy with an excellent recall for coffee-related details. Water first, though. It'll start flushing the toxins."
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She's aching everywhere, from her head -- god, her head -- right on down, but to her rather dazed brain the feet seem positively gratuitous; it's not even as if she's been doing anything exciting with them for the last few days.
She pads gingerly into the kitchen, managing a rather pained smile when she catches sight of Dick and the blessed, blessed coffee maker.
"Morning." She yawns hugely, swallowing half the word.
Reply
He can't help noticing she's walking like she hurts, but he can hold his curiosity until she's caffeinated. His concern won't wait though. "You look like you lost a battle with something meaner than you." He ought to know. Tossing her a nod, he adds, "Why don't you sit? I'll bring you a cup."
Of course he knows how she takes it. He pays attention. Changes in routine behaviors can be indicators of possession, stress, coercion. It's important to know.
Reply
She drops into the nearest chair, rather less than gracefully, and runs her hands carefully through her hair; she's got a nasty sinking feeling about a few of the things she remembers from the day before, and she flinches almost as much from that as from the sharp, reverberating ache that makes its presence felt when she pulls a bit too hard at a tangle.
"Apparently after bringing some of its friends along. You are quite possibly some sort of god among men."
Reply
Smile warm and easy, Dick brings the two cups to the table, plus a glass of water, quietly sets her coffee and the water in front of her, spins a chair quietly for himself, and straddles it, arms over the back.
"So I've been told," he answers, mischief playing in bright eyes. "I don't believe it, of course. I'm just an ordinary boy with an excellent recall for coffee-related details. Water first, though. It'll start flushing the toxins."
Reply
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