"'Liquifying on the leather.' Now that's repulsive-sounding. Thanks for a really disturbing visual."
Myer picks up the CD wallet and flips through it without consideration that Adam might not like him rifling through his things. "If I find any Backstreet Boys or Spice Girls in here, I'm going to make you stop the car instantly and let me out, because I could not possibly be seen with such a loser," he announces. "Who the hell is Shania Twain?"
He doesn't recognize many of them and rezips the wallet, letting it drop back onto the seat. The hush of the heater and the hum of the tires on the road is enough. Tipping his head back on the seat, he watches the scenery slip by with half-open eyes.
"If we were invincible, then I wouldn't cut myself shaving," he says. Not that he has to shave all that much, but still. "Or heal instantly, like--" he pauses to recall the name of the hero in one of Ellie's beloved comic books, "--Wolverine. I just think it's odd that I've not been sick, nor have you, when logically, you'd think we'd pick up things like others do." He wants to say 'regular people' because somehow, they've drifted beyond regular and into something else. The blooming abilities are ample proof of that.
"That's a sexist statement, you ass," he says. "Thinking that the girls would be the ones to make catsuits, and not one of us. You, for instance, would just need to watch one made and then be all fashion consultant and tailor to the powered. But better leather than spandex. Reserve a whole cow for Austin if you do, though."