(Untitled)

[in_verbatim]

It's the morning after the rain, and the air smells damp and thick. Puffs of steam slip up from the grates in the streets, twirling around like little angels and then dissipating into the air, only serving to accentuate the overcast atmosphere.

Verbal sits alone at one of the tables outside a cafe, sipping his coffee (black, only the real stuff)

Comments

[flossaddict]

Viv's night hadn't been good for business. She's only been in Vegas for a few days, and it's hard to make leeway or establish your patch when you're muscling in on other girls' territory

[in_verbatim]

Verbal is in a dreamworld, but then something... familiar catches his eye and moves towards the table next to him. He looks up from his coffee, resting it carefully on the table.

"...Hey," he starts slowly. When he sees that she's sitting down (and someone else's seat, no less) he quiets, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention to the whole thing. Only after she's settled does he, somewhat unsteadily, clear his throat.

"Hey-- uh, you," he says. "Don't I know you? From the Nexus, I mean."

[flossaddict]

The first hey from the guy sat near her is ignored, she presumes he's onto her. Act nonchalant, like you didn't hear it Viv, and he'll probably let it ride.

Hey, what do you know? There's a tip left on the table too. Vivian looks behind her into the window of the cafe, seeing if the staff have spotted her, one hand sliding the coins off the table into her clutched palm at the same time. There's a sideways glance in Verbal's direction aswell.

"Huh?" she says in surprise, as he speaks again, right as she was taking a bite of the Danish.

"I don't think so sugar, I usually have like a photographic memory for people I've met." Her mouth was half stuffed with pastry, and it didn't come out elegantly at all!

[in_verbatim]

"No, no. I've definitely met you before." He furrows his brow, eyes scanning back and forth as if trying to unearth some deep, faraway memory. He doesn't look at her.

"You're Vivian, right? You were talking about people hitting you, and then earlier we were talking about running away..."

His voice trails off as it suddenly occurs to him that she doesn't look quite like the woman he spoke to about the whole running thing. He wonders if it was an alternate, or a look-a-like, or something like that. He didn't have the best of luck with his alternate (or was it just some guy who looked freakishly like him? he had no clue), and so his stomach turns slightly at the thought.