coquaigne | mountains beyond mountains,

"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.

Tom mostly looks amused. He folds his arms over his chest, trying not to smile. Most people don't joke with him, this is... nice, strangely. "Naw, I can see it now." Under the perfume, they smell the same. "You did a bangup job of it, looking like a lady."

Sebastian tries to tell himself to relax, it looks like he's off the hook--but he leaves his knees just barely bent nonetheless. "You think so?" he asks. It's always nice to get compliments from people who don't have much familiarity with drag. Means he's doing a good job. "Thanks."

"Yeah." Tom shrugs. "Sure fooled me." He should have been able to smell it-- always be on your toes-- but the perfume was strong, and he wasn't really paying attention. He reassures himself: if he'd known to look for it, he would have caught it. "Why- why'd you do it, huh? Is it- oh!" He looks very pleased at having figured it out. "It an acting thing, huh?"

Oh, that's the question Sebastian hates. He shrugs, glancing down at the floor momentarily, wondering how to explain to a skinhead the appeal of looking into a mirror and seeing the same person, only different? "Sort of. More like..." He shrugs again. "Like for fun. Mostly."

"Huh." Tom can't really see the appeal himself, but McNair said you should never judge someone for something they do in the privacy of their own home if they're not hurting nothing. Tom always thought this oddly specific advice, but it applies well enough here. "So you just... go round in lady's clothes. Huh. I'd've never guessed."

"Yeah, sometimes," Sebastian says. Apparently he's a curiosity--this, he can handle. Drop another crumb of information, see what his newly informed friend gets out of it. "Sometimes I perform in 'em."

This gets Tom's attention, performing sounds like nothing he's ever fathomed. "Really? People pay to see that?" And then, after a worried pause, "not that you're not good at it or nothing..."

"If you're good at it, they give you tips." Sebastian gives him a wicked grin. He's not worried about Tom assuming he's not good at his work; after all, if he was a bad drag queen, he wouldn't have gotten away with flirting with him so scandalously the other day. "I can dance, and--and play the piano and things like that. That part's a bit like acting."

Of course, all the flirting just went right over Tom's head, but nobody needs to know that, least of all Tom. He just nods as if given a new business perspective, or while learning about burger flipping.

"Huh. Makes sense, when you put it like that." Tom had envisioned something more like a runway show. He saw one of them on the telly, once. Realizing the extent of his ignorance, he ducks his head down a bit, feeling suddenly out of place once more. It comes and it goes, it seems. "Sorry. I don't know nothing about any of this stuff." He assumes it's a London thing.

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