[private] once you think you're in you're out.

[subversion]

The room Light leads Matt to is a bar, which has been abandoned every time he's checked it. It's pure curiosity: something a little familiar. Heading to the counter - which is immaculate, as if someone scrubbed it down before walking out - he peeks behind there and steals a bottle of orange juice before looking back to her.

"It was some kind of genocide? Chasing utopia?"

[[OOC: private to stripesandheels.]]

Comments

[subversion.livejournal.com]

And then you'd grow wings, and fly to the moon.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

You think I'm making it up?

[subversion.livejournal.com]

I think a lot of things are made up, Matt. That doesn't stop you sitting there with those - [a bit of a gesture, from his perch, too wide as if he's dazed] - wings on.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

You've lost me, I'm afraid.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

I'm told I do that.

[Pulling his legs up onto the perch with him.]

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Uh huh.

[Watching him, with a faint smile.]

[subversion.livejournal.com]

What's funny?

[Peering across at her. Everything seems dim, faded. He'll be all right.]

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Nothing. I'm just enjoying myself, and I didn't really expect to.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

What, you thought you'd have to lie back and think of England?

[Drowsy, turning her words back towards her. His wings have folded around him.]

But I've got no secrets worth lying for, Matt.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Are we still playing truths?

[Kicking off and gliding over, landing daintily on the perch next to him, turning with her wings folded so as not to wack him with a feathered tip.]

[subversion.livejournal.com]

Ask.

[Watching her land, and turning towards her. He can lie; it's what he does, and he knows he's better at it than that other-him insisted.]

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Would you be really offended if I asked you to dinner?

[subversion.livejournal.com]

That depends. Are you going to poison me?

[Lazy-sounding, watching her. She rings bells on his pockets.]

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Not purposefully. I mean, I'm an awful cook, but it probably wouldn't come to that.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

When you say "awful"..?

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

I could probably manage soft boiled eggs. But poached is beyond me, and fried is pushing it.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

Come on. I haven't cooked since I left home and even I can poach an egg.

[The half-asleep look is drifting into a smile: he's offguard, not quite there.]

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Maybe you can teach me. I never had access to a kitchen.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

It's easy. [As he rattles off the recipe, he illustrates with his hands.] Shallow pan of water, bring it to the boil, crack your egg into a bowl, tip it into the boiling water, remove the heat, cover the pan. Five minutes for soft, ten for hard.

I could teach you, you know.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

That'd be nice.

[Swinging her feet, a little.]

[subversion.livejournal.com]

My mother used to do it. [An awkward pause.] I didn't answer your question, did I? Did I?

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

I don't remember. I guess you half did.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

Technically, poached eggs are breakfast, not dinner.

[stripesandheels.livejournal.com]

Then I guess you didn't, after all.

[subversion.livejournal.com]

I—

[It's whispered to him from the back of his mind all along: everything's different in a closed system.]

—can't. I'm sorry.