☎ voicemail

[as_damaged]

❝You've reached Allison Cameron, please leave a message.❞

☎ voicemail ☎ text message ☞ action

[ooc: you know the drill, if you need her and there's no recent post &c &c. whatever. ♥♥♥]

Comments

☞ action

[as_damaged]

That's harder to account for, [she agrees, remembering his regression. She can tell the difference between Peter and Chase now, but it's more a matter of mannerisms and expressions; their younger selves could be related, but it doesn't take a second glance to tell the difference.]

You should just feel glad that you don't molt. [More than a hint of her old teasing tone colors those words. It's a conscious choice; it's not entirely a joke, she found one of those long, impossible feathers once. Really, she appreciated it, somehow. Having the definite differences, in Chase's absence, eased the eeriness of resemblance.]

☞ action

[worksmart.livejournal.com]

I'm thankful every day. [Impossible is right. Between the version of him that looks like a child, and the version that looks like an angel, Chase could take a few swings at what exactly his psyche is trying to dwell on. But, lets save that for when he's a little less sober.

Swinging his bag over his shoulder, he turns them in the direction of the little blue hole-in-the-wall that's been the scene of a few after work drinks before. It's close, it's cheap, as criteria go, those are the big ones. And There's a sign outside advertising pitchers of cocktails at lower prices still, just as planned.] So what are you going to have? Something fruity? Cherries?

[Yes, he's teasing. He took the lead from her tone and watches her now. Is this okay?]

☞ action

[as_damaged]

[It's human nature to seek patterns in everything we see. Cameron's been mistaken for someone's mother and Chase's wife; really, isn't it better not to think about that sort of thing?

She glances away for a moment at his joke. It's a brief gesture, but telling. This isn't okay, not yet; but she wants it to be. Wants to be able to speak to him without that guarded edge of anger, which is as much show as anything at this point. Looking back she smiles, hefting the box on her hip for emphasis.] Nothing too sweet. I have half a bakery to eat, after all.

☞ action

[worksmart.livejournal.com]

Suits me. [She's got room for half a bakery, he thinks but doesn't say, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Not that he doesn't appreciate the care she takes over herself -- he really appreciates it -- but there are days even he thinks she could use a meal that sticks to her ribs. Not regularly. Now and then.

He caught her uncertainty, but the fact it didn't come followed up with a rebuke bolsters him. He catches her elbow just to get them through the bar crows together to one on the booths at the edge and raises his voice above the noise.] You choose it, I'll drink it. Just nothing gin based, not my drink.

[His mother's.]