Quicklog: Muerte & Eddie
[Death would have to admit that in her time since returning to Gotham, when a certain section of the city's residents began to know her as "Zoe" instead of "Em", that she sometimes returned to Daryl's. It was never when Eddie was going to be there, and always only to sit at the bar or in the back, smiling at even the off-key singers as they poured their feelings out into the songs. She came and went quietly, never pulling the sort of attention that Eddie did just by bying himself. The customers could probably agree that there was something familiar, if she was pointed out to them, but they wouldn't be able to put their finger on just what it was.
She'd been waiting outside when Eddie arrived, hands in the pockets of the leather coat layered over the thick fleece of a hoodie. She didn't comment on his expression, on anything that had been happening in Gotham (in general or in specific to him). She just nodded and accompanied him inside. Inside, where it was warm enough to shuck the outer layers until she was down to an oversized, faded, worn-thin t-shirt, tucked into a pair of close-cut and torn jeans. The shirt hung, the jeans clung, and her hair was everywhere. She looked more punk than maybe she once had, the inked lines of an ankh on the inside of her left wrist stark against the moon-pale of her skin.
She'd let Eddie do his thing, lounging in the bar as he kept returning to the stage, letting him work out the demons that were haunting him (none literal, thank goodness). By the time he was belting out Valerie, she found herself at the bar, ordering a couple Shirley Temples (because why not), an extra bottle of water, and a basket of the pretzels that were forever being refilled for the patrons. Water bottle somehow tucked in the too-small pocket of her jeans, she balanced the two drinks in one hand and the popcorn in the other, and made her way back across the room to the booth they'd claimed. Nothing fell and nothing spilled, and that was entirely impossible. Everything was set carefully onto the table, and she slid in the booth across from him.
She looked for a moment, not asking, not pushing, not saying a thing. Not until she nodded in confirmation.] Well that's at least a little better. [She reached out and used one finger to push the bottle of water closer toward him.]