The Perk, Wednesday afternoon

[deathtofrendo]

Quinn had been getting pretty fast on her crutches, even on the stairs, and she was starting to feel an itch under her skin, something she'd developed over the last year when she stayed in one place too long.

She didn't have any other places to be, though. Her family thought she was dead. She still wasn't entirely convinced she wasn't. And with everything she'd done . . . her family was probably better off mourning her and moving on.

So she had to settle for long, crutching walks through this weird little town.

At least it had a decent coffee shop. She hobbled in, started to order a small coffee, then changed her mind at the last moment and went for a hot chocolate instead.

She'd seen and done too much, yes. But maybe . . . maybe if she stuck around this place long enough, she could recapture a little bit of the old, pre-massacre Quinn. At least in her choice of beverages.

[we're all quiet today, huh. Open!]

Comments

[sharp_man]

Hannibal was out running errands, and came in for an espresso he didn't have to make himself.

He stopped and nodded to Quinn. "Hello there. How is your foot doing?"

[deathtofrendo]

Had Quinn kind of been hoping not to run across the guy who sewed her toes back on again?

Yeah. Little bit.

She looked from her drink, to him, to her foot. “. . . Fine.”

[sharp_man]

Sorry, Quinn; Hannibal was inescapable.

"No issues with numbness or blackening?" he checked.

One of the baristas made a face, but honestly, if that was the worst she ever heard in this place, she should count herself lucky.

[deathtofrendo]

Quinn would be weirded out to realize she agreed with Hannibal’s narrative.

“Nope.”

[sharp_man]

"Very good." Hannibal nodded and picked up his espresso, tipping well.

"And how are you finding Fandom?"

[deathtofrendo]

"Fine."

Quinn had committed to the monosyllabic answer and was sticking to it. She was pretty sure she'd already told this guy too much while under the influence of anesthesia.

[sharp_man]

Oh, probably. But it wasn't as though Hannibal was going to judge.

"You've found a place to live and a job if you want one?" he asked. "Nobody's giving you trouble?"

Not that he thought anybody in Fandom would, but he adored gossip.

[deathtofrendo]

. . . A job. Now there was a concept.

"Yep," she said. He didn't need to know she hadn't thought of, like, seeking gainful employment.

[sharp_man]

That was her own business. Though he was disappointed it looked like he still wouldn't be getting a secretary. One of these days the island should steal someone who was good with Excel.

"Good to know. Well, should you find yourself needing help, you have only to ask. Until then, I will leave you be." He toasted her with his cup.

[deathtofrendo]

Quinn didn't bother with a syllable this time, just raised an eyebrow and nodded.

You were going to need to look elsewhere for excel expertise, sorry, Hannibal.

[sharp_man]

Eh, he lived in hope.

He nodded politely and left.