coquaigne | mountains beyond mountains,

"Yeah," Sebastian says sheepishly. He tips his head down a bit as he shrugs, letting his hand drop from his cheek, and wonders whether Tom here's any good with faces. "Bit clumsy. It happens."

Tom is leaning down a bit-- with a bit of an edge, and seeing how he's just a bit shorter than this bloke already, he can just see his teeth. "Better watch out where you're going, eh?"

He stands back, and holds out his hand in front of him for a shake. "'M Tom. You new, or you have a key already?"

"Guess so," Sebastian answers. There's no dislodging Tom, it seems like, so he'll just have to take his chances. He doesn't fancy having to try and outrun him if he decides he's in a mood to try punching something other than a bag--but he's been nothing but friendly so far. Perhaps it's time to take the risk.

Sebastian takes Tom's hand and shakes it, suddenly thankful that he did his nails up in clear varnish yesterday instead of red. "Sebastian. I've got a key. Suppose you're, uh, not new, either."

Tom gives a good, strong handshake. Not on purpose, he just doesn't know how else to do it. This is how McNair taught him. Also, to always be friendly and polite. "I been here a while. Gone home in between, though." He keeps on smiling, and finally gets a good look at Sebastian's face. "Oy, you look familiar. You from Barry?" His expression brightens visibly at the suggestion, not that it was particularly dark before.

"London," Sebastian corrects him, then remembers that Viola had also said she was from London. Didn't she? It was suddenly difficult to recall--he hadn't known that he was going to have to remember all that small-talk for later. And the strength of Tom's handshake really wasn't reassuring him at the moment.

But lots of people were from London. Surely it'd be all right, especially if he redirected the conversation a bit. "Where's Barry?"

Lots of people are from London! The thought doesn't cross Tom's mind. "Wales," he says. "Barry Island," he says. But he isn't to be deterred. Tom isn't particularly good with faces, but he knows so few that he tries to keep track of them. And this one is familiar. "I didn't stay in London proper when I was there-- you do much camping?"

"Oh," Sebastian says. "I've heard Wales is nice."

He hasn't been--when he leaves England, it's usually for Scotland or somewhere on the continent. Depends on what Dad wants to do for a holiday (since Father will usually agree to just about anything Dad wants). And then it's another question, but luckily, Sebastian can answer truthfully. "Not really--I'm rubbish at outdoorsy stuff. I guess you do?"

Tom shrugs-- he's since learned 'I lived in a van' gets the wrong kind of attention-- and hums a bit more. "A bit, yeah, uh... maybe you just have one of those faces." He shrugs, and steps back a bit. He doesn't want to come off... strange. And this guy might be a vampire after all, who knows.

"What, uh, what'd you come here for?" He asks, curious and wanting for companionship. His inner wolf longs for a pack, and the hotel is always too empty for his tastes.

"Maybe I do." That sounds like he's off the hook for the moment, and that's what Sebastian wants to hear. He smiles for the first time since Tom's walked over, face breaking into a wide grin. "I've got some books I've got to read for class, and this place is well cheaper than a real shop. And you're here for exercise, I take it."

"Uh," Tom looks over to the punching bag, and thinks about the unholy wreck the seven floor is. "Yeah. Exercising. Got to, uh, gotta stay fit. For, um. For my job." So this is about the fourth time Tom has ever lied in his life. Better change the subject. "What're you studying?"

"Your job?" He's about to ask why a cook needs to know how to punch, but Sebastian's not supposed to know that Tom's a cook. It's a close call, one that leaves him wondering what would happen if he'd slipped up. Close enough that he doesn't trust himself to do a good job at lying about his studies at the moment; he's not a good liar at the best of times, and he's not sure how easily he'll be able to spin a cover story if he says something other than the truth. "Drama. I'm going to be an actor."

"Yeah, I work at a cafe." Well, no one ever said Tom was a good liar. Sebastian's answer sparks something in the back of his mind. "A-an actor, huh? There's a lot of them in London, aren't there?"

Sebastian nods. Looks like neither of them are good liars, then--what's he going to need to be able to punch people out at a cafe for? A club, Sebastian could understand, but not a short-order cook making people hamburgers. He doesn't ask, though; he doesn't want to needle Tom unnecessarily. "Yeah, loads of 'em. It's a great city for actors."

"Yeah, seems like a good spot for 'em," Tom says, as if he'd know. And then the thought, a bubble, rises to the surface and pops. "You don't have a sister, do you?"

Hey, something Sebastian can use to throw him off the trail! Best news in the world. He nods, grinning. "Yeah, her name's Rosie--she's eleven. Why d'you ask?"

This gives Tom pause. "Eleven, huh? Just-- I met someone the other day, seemed a lot like you..." Best leave out that she was a, well, she. Best not insult the man.

"Really?" Sebastian says, trying to keep his face still. Pretend it's acting, he tells himself, but the nice thing about acting is that there's a script. That's the difference between acting and lying: with one of them, he knows what's going to happen. "Funny thing, that."

"Yeah," Tom says, and steps back again, hoping he hasn't come across too badly. It occurs to him that he's not wearing a shirt, and don't people have a problem with that, sometimes? He isn't sure. "Guess you just have one of those faces. Not that- not that you're, uh, girly..."

"Guess I do." Sebastian shrugs, and shrugs again when Tom hurriedly corrects himself. It's tempting to give the game away, but he doesn't want his face pounded in. Even if it'd be fun to watch that spark of recognition pass over the bloke's face--it's always fun when people put two and two together. "I've been called girly before, s'okay."

Tom has never, never been called girly, but then again, he's never done lots of things in his life. Maybe that's a normal thing that people do. This bloke from London probably knows better than him. "Oh, okay. Uh, good, I guess." He smiles, painfully aware he's stumbled into confused territory-- he doesn't talk to normal humans often, especially not without backup.

This gets something like hope welling up in Sebastian. His impulse control isn't great, and Tom didn't just laugh in his face. So hey, why not test the waters? "Yeah. I mean, if I was thrown in a dress and a wig, I wouldn't be half bad, yeah?"

Or, you know. Just pretty much blow the whole thing. He'll be more sensible when he's older.

Tom thinks this is a great joke, and it gets him out of an awkward situation, so who's counting. He laughs lightly, rocking back on his heels. He's not really sure what to say as a followup-- any number of things could insult the lad-- so he just picks randomly. "I guess so, yeah. Can't really picture it." Which is, if nothing else, painfully honest.

Sebastian grins all the bigger at this. "I dunno. Maybe I'd look like that girl you met."

You know, since they had similar faces and all that. Somebody's feeling confident now--he figures that since he's not in heels, he'll probably be okay to run.

And, there, that is the spark of recognition Sebastian was looking for. He steps back again, his expression reading shock and confusion. Men really do that? But they look too much alike not to be the same person, now that Tom's mind is searching more for bone structure and facial shape than makeup and hair. "No," he says. "You're kidding me."

It's the way that Tom reels back slightly that leaves Sebastian worried, a sharp pang in his chest. He tenses, ready to turn tail and run if he needs to, but tries to keep an easy smile on his face. "Maybe I am." His voice doesn't even tremble--he's proud of that, at least. Maybe he can still come off all right, even if he's done something stupid.

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