Re: Cass & Alex: the (bad) diner
Alex took a drag of his cigarette, knowing he should quit the things but like, sometimes what was the point? Not apathetic but legitimately questioning that one; he'd died of aggressive, medically-induced cancer and hey, he was still here. Would it be any different if he did it to himself? And right now, he needed this too much, as was the nature of addiction: the throat hit, the pleasant little buzz of his brain telling him that yes he'd done good to come here at the expense of his lungs. He slouched against the wall, wrapped up in the hoodie like it was his cotton-polyester-blend armor against the world. He knew he could be as thin and fragile as the fabric, a frequently-broken thing like the threads fraying away at the cuffs, but he rarely dwelt upon it; he was too busy trying to live his life these days.
"Seems like you got some a' the second," he pointed out. And it didn't seem too bad, just small talk but hey, he was a small person and maybe that suited him. He'd be okay with not digging too deep for once. Everyone wanted that: dig deep, what's going on in your head, tell me your secrets and about your life. Sure, they shared in kind, but it could make him feel like he was on display and that level of visibility wasn't comfortable for Alex, even if he was trying to make the effort to be such. He kept his hood down, though the reflex was to pull it up over his hair. "Doesn't seem too bad. You new here?" He raised his eyes to her face, and his own was honest as these things could be judged. Innocent, though that wasn't the truth. But not maliciously guilty; only by association, in a general sense. Not that it had anything to do with his question; he'd been around to the diner a handful of times, and didn't remember her face. But that didn't mean much, either, and really, that question there, could be: new to the diner, new to Repose, hell, new to this little alleyway.