Charlie sat down on the table and left the couch to her, only slightly worried about blood getting on the fabric. He wasn't particularly attached to any of the furniture in his apartment since it had only been purchased out of necessity. "They come in handy," he chuckled, gesturing to the painkillers. As long as you weren't stupid enough to overdose they served a variety of purposes quite well.
He'd almost forgotten what her day job was, but it was a hell of a lot more interesting than his. He was just a common blue-collar worker who'd managed to keep his job despite the economy and maintained a decent enough pay to support his lifestyle. His day job was just like his furniture - something he only had out of necessity. There was no competition or bitterness with his coworkers since he never cared enough to know them, and he never cared enough to put in the effort to be an exemplary worker. As long as he didn't get himself fired he didn't give a damn. It was the mention of dreams that really got his attention, and his eyes narrowed a fraction when she asked if there was anyone who could do what he did.
"There was one," he said slowly, "who interrupted me during a nightmare. But he was nothing like me... his power was laughable." Still, the look on his face suggested that he hadn't liked it regardless. "Besides, I took care of him."