Ellie clumsily pointed out features as they were described, attention flickering; while when sober she was absolutely a paragon of patience and focus, all of those tight laces came loose after a drink or two. She ended up setting her head down on the table, resting her temple against the soft part of her arm.
"A robo... Jet.... Pony... "
O'Brien asked what she was up to, and Ellie giggled, glancing up at him. It was pretty clear what she was doing, as far as she was concerned. Lounging dizzily on a table, watching the movement of the crayon. Thinking about life. Existentialism. Emotional/psychological exchange.
"I liked the movies," she said after a moment, furrowing her brow. "They were... Sort of unbelievable. Why would he... If he's got a time machine... Why?"
Maybe the question didn't make any sense. Okay. It definitely didn't.
Eloise sat up then, suddenly aware of herself, and slipped a blue crayon out of the package. "I'm going to sign your work, and then... Everyone will think it's mine... Robo-jet-pony..."
"I don't know what I'm up to," she added. The tiny E. E. Stamp was hard to write with such an awkward point, especially since she'd chosen to place it in the far corner of the page. In the end she crossed it out, replacing it with a giant block E that was representative of nothing about her. "I'm thinking about things. Like Greg. Greg... I was justtt... You know, considering things. It's nice that... Nice that he's in my life now. Like Evan left -- Evan left my life, sort of -- and then Greg stepped in. Not in the same place Evan was in. Obviously. But."