"Okay," agreed Ellie, surrendering the wine without an argument. He was probably right. Wouldn't want to get wine on these clothes. She was still picky about that sort of thing, even at the end of the world; picky about a lot of things, really, for someone prone to general intellectual apathy. "I want you to have it, anyway. Anywayy."
We talked about that?
He made her laugh again. It echoed on the stairwell, louder than their steps. "Yesss," she encouraged, when he began remembering. "We did. I asked you what counted, and you... Didn't know. But now you do."
Ellie knew those bands, sort of. Now that she'd been doing a little bit of research to compensate for a lack of knowledge before. Music had never been her strong suit in any sense; she'd always been the kind to listen to whatever her friends happened to like, and never really question things either way. Which was funny, considering her tendency to do just the opposite when it came to many other things.
"I have," she nodded, grinning again. A little absently, perhaps, but very much in earnest. "I don't like it very... Very much. But I'm giving it a fair shot. We can put it on. On the roof. That's where we should... Where we should go."
Ellie wrinkled her nose. "You're probably right. I'm too... Too wobbly. I'd say hide and seek instead, but I'd fall asleep. Very... Very soon."
Turning on music sounded like a good idea. It usually was. And he could talk to her, if he wanted. Maybe she'd talk to him. Did O'Brien smoke? He didn't really look the type that would. Maybe he'd like chocolate. "I have chocolate," she said, because it was true.
Then something else occurred to her, listening to the echoes. Chocolate... Olate... Olate...
"Hey, listen to this," Ellie commanded loopily. "I know this song now. Good golly, miss Molly. Sure like to ball." She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded nice coming back down off the rounded ceiling. "When you're rocking.... And rolling? Can hear your mama call, something, something."