watching_you | OOM: Suite 130

"Twenty sixteen. And just to get it out of the way, there are no flying cars."

She gestures with her fork.

"And I will not be telling you the winners of any major political or sporting events that happen in between now and then, either."

"Ah, the day after tomorrow," he muses, leaning on one elbow. "Gasoline prices insane? Or have we gone electric yet?"

His mind is immediately straying to Ellen's dire predictions about resources.

She shakes her head, smirking.

"You'll just have to wait and see."

He chuckles and nods. "Will do."

He takes a sip, watching her over his glass, enjoying her smugness.

"So, where would we go in your world?"

She responds while looking thoughtful and remaining totally straight-faced. "Well it can't be anywhere outside of the demilitarized zone, I don't have high enough access. And of course anything east of New York is wastes, these days -- you only get the raiders in there."

She snaps her fingers with sudden insight.

"I've got just the place! Trust me when I say that after this, you will never look at a zoo the same way again."

Mills buys it for about half a heart beat. And then he remembers...

"Oh, you mean to tell me you got that gorgeous red trench coat in a war zone?"

Veronica's expression does not flicker. "Pulled it off a corpse, actually. Poor woman. Well, I say it was a woman, but really I'm guessing."

Solemn, "So hard to tell after the wereducks get to them."

"Wereducks."

He clasps his hands and leans toward her.

"Wereducks?"

She leans in, voice hushed with conspiracy, eyes alight with something like horror.

"You should see them. Feathers black like pitch, eyes that glow blood red, teeth like knives."

She gestures, emphatically.

"Big as a man!"

Mills plays along, because really, what else can he do?

"Wereducks. Big as a man? Are they vulnerable to silver?"

Veronica nods, expression grave.

"We received special training at the Academy in the case of an outbreak within a highly-populated urban area. Silver bullets, that's the thing. It's no use trying to fight them hand to hand -- or hand to wing, as the case may be -- they're vicious in close quarters."

"Mmm hmm."

Okay, now he's just going to sit back in his chair, giving her a Look.

"I'm sorry, Mills, but if you're going to know me, you should know that this is my life. These days, in my world, F.B.I. stands for Feral Bird I-radicators."

Serious face is serious.

"Feral Bird I-radicators."

It takes a moment, and he's really trying not to, but she's gone Too Far.

He hangs his head and laughs.

"This is not a joke! This is deadly serious!"

Her poker face is already beginning to crack.

"Thousands of innocent people... die every day! All because of the... wereduck... menace."

She dissolves into laughter, then reaches across to give him a playful punch on the arm. "Jerk. You were just going to make me keep going with that, weren't you?"

"Well, what choice did I have? You seemed so — adamant." He's still chucking. "Man-sized wereducks," he scoffs, picking up their plates and ambling back into the kitchen.

"You forget, I've been out of bar with Ellen Park. Man-sized crab things. No really. Wouldn't go down but for a 12 gauge slug to the face." He's completely serious.

He flexes his wrist, working out the tightness from the injure. "Wereducks," he laughs under his breath. "You almost had me."

"Ducks with teeth, Mills, ducks with teeth."

She watches him, leaning forward onto the table, chin cupped in one hand.

"I'm definitely keeping you around. Most other folks have caught on to me by now -- I never get away with that stuff these days."

"There goes my credibility. Shot to hell, by ducks. With teeth." He shakes his head, grinning. He rinses the plates off and then turns to look at her while he dries his hands.

"Veronica, Veronica. Whatever shall I do with you, hmm?"

Her eyes narrow in thought.

"Put up with me, hopefully."

"Oh is that all? I could do that much in my sleep."

Oh hey, look. A kitchen that needs tidying.

Too easy. Veronica lets him off the hook, smirking.

"I have been told I am easier to tolerate if one is unconscious."

Eventually he runs out of things to wipe down or put away, and he drifts back to the table. His long fingers encircle the glass of water, like she's seen him do with beer bottles.

When he manages to look back into her face, his irises are dark, the smile lines deepening at the corners of his eyes. "You're the most unexpected thing I've met since I first came to Milliways."

Somewhere in there is a compliment, she's sure, but she's not quite sure how to take it.

"More than man-sized crab monsters?"

"You forget. I live in LA now. Crab monsters on every corner, working through their lines. But a beautiful, intelligent, funny young woman who seems, seems mind you, seems to be interested in a man like me?"

He shakes his head, looking back down at his hands.

"I'd sooner expect to meet the Loch Ness monster lounging by the pool or Bigfoot selling magazine subscriptions."

There's no witty answer to that, really.

She reaches out, takes one of his hands off the jug, holds it in hers. Gently, she lifts it to her lips and brushes a kiss against his knuckles.

Softly, "You're pretty unexpected yourself."

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