From nearby, a voice with a thick, harsh accent (Not really Russian) commented quietly, but certainly meant to be heard.
"I should think it a morbid fancy to smile upon the death of a cosmos."
The originator of the voice was a rather pretty young woman sitting at a table with a cup of hot tea. Her garb--a gown of dark silk--marked her as not from modern America, though she is worshiped as a god in Los Angeles.
The woman's face did not move, and her voice was cool, calm, and incurious as she replied blandly. No evidence is given to inquiry on what Brennan was actually smiling about.
Brennan regards the figure with a bemused half smile.
She can't imagine that it's anywhere close to Halloweeen in Milliways. Though seeing that it's Milliways she won't completely disregard the possibliity.
She watches curiously to see what the sheeted figure will do next. If he (or she) follows custom and asks for candy, Brennan has half a roll of Livesavers in her lab coat pocket. Aside from that she's ill prepared.
He looks at her, and points at the fireworks-explosions that's spitting blue sparkish things. That doesn't happen every day.
He tells her about it with the tone of children everywhere, when they deign to point out to adults what they're too grown up to know to pay attention to any more. Like giving a gift.
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Though it's possible her perception is similiarly colored.
"You look pretty cheerful for someone who's watching the universe end."
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"We solved our case."
Always a cause for good cheer, to be sure. A date for pie and coffee didn't hurt.
"Care to join me?"
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She sits down in the chair opposite Brennan's.
"And no one's shot any other, you know, desert-vending vehicles?"
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And it's quite possible that was delivered with attempted wit, not as a literal fact.
"It was the preacher, as it turned out. We brought him in and he was booked yesterday."
It's only slightly weird to Brennan now that "we" in this case involves an agent other than Booth.
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"I should think it a morbid fancy to smile upon the death of a cosmos."
The originator of the voice was a rather pretty young woman sitting at a table with a cup of hot tea. Her garb--a gown of dark silk--marked her as not from modern America, though she is worshiped as a god in Los Angeles.
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Brennan is much better with technical terminology than she is with poetic speeches.
"That wasn't what I was smiling over," she explains.
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"I see."
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Not being a socially inclined (or particularly apt) person, it would not occur to Brennan to go on to further explain her mood.
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"Ooooh."
There's a lovely little blue nebula thing just starting to go, emitting all kinds of pretty sparks, that's caught Santi's attention.
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She can't imagine that it's anywhere close to Halloweeen in Milliways. Though seeing that it's Milliways she won't completely disregard the possibliity.
She watches curiously to see what the sheeted figure will do next. If he (or she) follows custom and asks for candy, Brennan has half a roll of Livesavers in her lab coat pocket. Aside from that she's ill prepared.
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He looks at her, and points at the fireworks-explosions that's spitting blue sparkish things. That doesn't happen every day.
He tells her about it with the tone of children everywhere, when they deign to point out to adults what they're too grown up to know to pay attention to any more. Like giving a gift.
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Mainly because she doesn't converse with them as if they are children.
"What is 'iMira'?" she asks curiously, as she would ask any adult when asking for clarification.
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