Ep. 2 - People Are Strange - (Closed)

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The question felt loaded. How much did Marco know? Would mentioning Haven be a good idea? And how much had Deuce mentioned to him about her, exactly? Sarita caught herself eyeing Marco warily for a moment, and she could feel the dark twinge her face was about to make at him. She schooled her expression into something polite, at the last moment; her hands folded delicately in her lap, and her legs crossed. There was a stiff, near-regal attempt to her posture as she leaned back against the seat.

"He liked my singing," the singer said, plainly. "He offered me a ride to one of my gigs. It's easier to get from one place to another with how fast he can travel. He's also got an interesting taste in music, and I enjoy listening to him while we travel. Lenny's a fascinating man — "

She had to remind herself not to use his real name there.

" — And I appreciate good company. He's also great at giving me ideas for the classics to pick up. Everyone seems to love a good Jimi Hendrix cover."

Sarita picked up a menu and started reading. Her nose wrinkled a little at the choices offered — she could deal with grease, but lactose was a different matter. Two out of the three specials had milk in them, and more than half the menu items had something with dairy in it. The pulled pork sandwich would probably be a safe bet, since she couldn't remember the last time she'd been at a restaurant that stuck cheese inside of one. Then again, she might just go for a salad....

A slight rumble in her stomach convinced her otherwise. Not only was she hungry, she was skinny as a twig, and damn near unhealthy with her current weight. She almost glanced at her long, bony arms, tanned darker by the sun and noticeably slender without long sleeves. There was a needle of something self-conscious in the pit of her stomach, vulnerable and obscure; did she really look as thin as she thought she did? As scruffy as she thought? When was the last time she'd washed her hair, and not just with cheap soap, but proper shampoo and conditioner? She was at a meeting, and she should've looked better than she did, but she didn't.

"I think I'll have that sandwich."

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It took less than two seconds for Marco to flip through the menu and toss it down again.

"I am having waffles," he declared. "What the hell, we've still got a half hour before they stop serving breakfast. Loaded with butter and syrup, aw yes."

Deuce regarded him incredulously as he took off his hat and sunglasses and set them down on the table. A slim cell phone was laid down last, in a black folio case.

"How can you eat that?" he said.

"What? They're good, shut up. I'll go run laps later if you're worried about my cholesterol levels. So!"

While Deuce shook his head, Marco rubbed his hands together in mock glee and looked Sarita up and down with unabashed curiosity. Despite his curtness and dusty, dishevelled appearance, and the faint air of mania that hung about him like aftershave, there was nothing blunt about his gaze. Something discerning lingered in the back of his eyes, sharp and waiting.

"Dee mentioned you were a singer," he said. "And that you play guitar. That is cool, I will admit it. Anybody who covers the classics is all right in my books. Are You Experienced was a gift to the goddamned world."

Marco patted down the front pocket of his shirt. "He also mentioned that you, much like myself, are currently at large and travelling the countryside. And that you have some unusual friends. Which I also have no complaints with, I am in the business of being interested in unusual people with unusual friends. Is that true? And does anyone mind if I smoke?"

Deuce sputtered.

"You smoke now?" he said. "When did that happen?!"

"What? I get bored up there in the hills time forgot, come on."