Sean was definitely the reserved, nervous type, but that didn't bother Libby. In her line of work, she came across people with widely varying degrees of particularities. Not that she was trying to diagnosis Sean's behaviors, leaning strongly towards non-pathologizing, but the point was between her career field and knowing that there were werewolves and psychic powers in the world, nothing was too peculiar to her anymore. She figured he had some form of social anxiety orā€”at mostā€”agoraphobia. Obviously it wasn't debilitating in that he was able to get out and about and go to his job. And the fact that his job involved working with dead people, well, she could hardly judge him for that. Dead people didn't speak to him after they've left the world of the living.
She caught the passing look on his face at the mention of whiskey and she could have smacked herself on her forehead right then. Great, invite him over in the middle of the night and offer up alcohol. Way to send the message that you're some boozy floozy! She was half relieved when he asked for water instead. "Then water it is," she said brightly, grabbing a glass out of one of the cupboards by the sink and filling it with Brita-filtered water from the tap. She brought it to him and said, "And there's ice cubes in the freezer if you like it colder. Please, help yourself."
Retrieving her steaming cup of hot chocolate from where she left it on the island countertop, she took a small sip and thought about what he asked. "Fair question," she said, laughing at herself. "I tend to be a scaredy-cat when it comes to horror movies, but I figured I should toughen up. And you know, zombie apocalypse, it's very in and such an interesting topic. But I probably should have started myself on something a little less intense, though, like Shaun of the Dead or Warm Bodies or that new show iZombie," she said, rattling off the names of other zombie-themed titles she saw on Netflix.