Amalgaverse High

"Surf?" Pffft. "No, I don't surf." Carmichael twists the cap off the top of his bottle and takes a swig. "Do you... hell, what /do/ people do in Wyoming?" It's a valid question. Because seriously... what do they do?

"Nonsense. All people from California surf." Dakota says, serious-faced. And then comes that question, and she snorts. "Drugs, mostly." ... What, she's being honest. All the people she hung out with did, anyway. "It's a lot of empty space. Just like the brains of the people who live there."

That gets a snerk out of Carmichael, and he plays with the cap from his Coke bottle absently. "Drugs and empty spaces, huh? So did you like drop acid and go cow tipping?" Not that that doesn't sound like a blast. He swivels on his barstool for a second, looking around the bar, then, without making eye contact, asks, "So what would you say if I asked you to get out of here with me and go get something to eat?" Doo dee doo, watch the crowd, avoid looking over, ho humm.

"You say that like it's a joke, but cow tipping was the talk of the town. I didn't partake in it. I was much more interested in taping unicorn horns to the cows." Again, straight-faced. And oho, an invitation to go out and get food, Dakota is totally on board with that. She's going to be difficult as usual, though, resting her elbow on the counter, chin in her palm. "I'd say ask me again and this time, look at me."