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Nico vanished quickly the other night — she likes Billy perfectly well, but she's feeling very awkward around him. Very uncomfortable. For some pretty good reasons, in her opinion. She won't have any trouble working with him, but… well, possibly best to dodge problems where they can be dodged.
That said, after the events of the other night the two people she considers closest friends around vanished quickly, and she knows why the one left, but is concerned about the well-being of the other. So Nico makes her way to East Third Street, up to the third floor, and knocks at Tommy and Hope's door. She comes bearing food, at any rate — a large bag of food from one of the better restaurants in her neighborhood.
*
In the case of those 'left behind' in California, well… it took a little while for them to get home. Even when one runs as fast as Tommy does, crossing a couple thousand miles isn't exactly instantaneous. Anymore. It makes sense in an odd kinda way. He's not as fast as Hope is using his powers at least, that's for sure.
He'd been relaxing on the sofa until the knock at the door — and as always (when they're home — it doesn't take long for the door to be opened, Tommy standing there in checkered pajama pants and an old gray t-shirt, with a cheery grin on his lips. "Hey, Nico. Didn't expect to see you around today, c'mon in." Pause. Sniff, sniff. "Something smells good."
*
"I figured since you guys sprang for lunch last time I visited, I'd return the favor," Nico replies, smiling in return as she enters. The food is set on the table and she starts to extract it from the bag. Wonton soup, chicken lo mein, pork fried rice, beef with broccoli. All the major Chinese food groups. "Really, I need to find a decent place for tempura. It's New York City. There's got to be something." She looks up from the table at Tommy. "Is Hope okay?"
*
"Oooh." Tommy replies, closing and locking the door behind Nico once she's inside, and following her over towards the table. As the food is set out? Tommy can't help but lick his lips and grin. "Oh, this looks /great./ Got utensils, or should I grab?" Pause. "Want a drink? We've got sodas, booze — that comes from Germany. I always get the good stuff." A grin to that, and another pause as he looks the Asian teen over. "…if you want tempura sometime from the source, let me know. You look light enough to ride me across the ocean."
Yes. He's quite serious about that. "Hope's good. She's kinda taking it easy in there." A thumb towards the bedroom. "If I haven't food poisoned her yet." Because she's the better cook out of the apartment's residents.
*
The offer of a trip to Japan brings a smile to Nico's face — for all that it's accompanied by her eyes casting downward. Something in Tommy's offer brings to her mind the way she was raised, the good little Japanese girl. Perhaps just the fact that it's Japan.
"I… ah… I don't drink alcohol," she says. Or at least she never has to date. "I wasn't old enough in California." And her parents would have thrown a fit. Her eyes flick to the bedroom door, and she nods. "Save some of the lo mein for her," she says. "I'll see to it that she gets another order of the soup, too."
*
"Something wrong?" Yup. He caught that look. "I mean, I'm not gonna drop you in the ocean or anything. Maybe in a /pool,/ but…" Always with the humor, that one, even as he turns to dig through drawers for silverware. The comment about not being old enough? That brings him a pause as he eyes her speculatively. Maybe a little too long. "…/Huh./ I would've guessed you were at least eighteen. I guess I'm slipping. Your call, though — I don't judge either way, God knows I started drinking when I was… what… sixteen, maybe?" Tommy admits, plucking out a couple of sets of silverware; three, actually.
There will be food brought in to Hope. He's good at playing the caretaker role and better than he looks — or admits — at sharing food. "Will do. I'll probably sneak in there at some point to see if she's awake and hungry." Around him? There's not much of a difference. She gets the speedster appetite right along with the powers.
*
"The legal drinking age in California is twenty-one," Nico says. "I -am- eighteen. But I was also… well, I was daddy's little girl up until I saw him kill a girl my age. Something of a goody-two-shoes, you know?" A wry look on her face. "So I didn't drink. I was demure and all that stuff. I just didn't want to let my parents down." Though mom never did approve of her taste in clothes.
*
Tommy frowns sympathetically, returning to the table with the silverware — set out on napkins (and wrapped up for Hope) — along with two bottles; one of some German-label alcohol that he can't pronounce, one of good ol' Coca-Cola, both are set on the table. "I've always been trouble." Tommy replies, a /bit/ of a grin creeping back onto his face. "Started getting walked home by the cops when I was… I think ten? Just to try and rile up my old man. He was a jerk, but…" he waves a hand a bit, "…I guess at least he was the kind of jerk that you /knew/ was a jerk, you know?" That said, he reaches out to try and pat her on the shoulder before moving towards a seat. "Sounds like you did your part to try and have a happy family, though."
*
"So did they," says Nico with a shrug. "I just couldn't look away once I knew what they did behind closed doors." She pauses a moment. Her eyes widen, and then she winces. Other closed doors. "I mean, I don't fault anybody for doing what they want, as long as they don't hurt anybody else in the process." She regards the can of German-label whatever, then looks to Tommy with a raised eyebrow. "Doesn't your metabolism make the stuff just kinda… go right through you?"
*
"Yeah, same here. Live and let live, like the Beatles say." Or are going to say. Tommy's not sure. He knows he's heard at least /one/ of their songs on the radio, though. As for the question on his metabolism? "That's part of why I go to Germany or Ireland for it; they make it stronger than we do." he replies, tapping the edge of the can before popping it open. "My metabolism's really good for processing food, yes, but part of it is that I'm.. well. I'm me. I'm always…" he zips across the room in a blink. "Here," then to the counter "There," and back to the chair. "Everywhere all at once. I work it off. If I want to just… forget about life for a while? I grab some of these and stay still. No moving means less woosh in my insides."
*
Nico's brows furrow. "I haven't heard that one," she admits. "But they're good. They're not the Beach Boys, admittedly." She's a California girl, after all. In about a year the band's going to release a song saying they're the best girls in the world, and Nico's going to be right there agreeing with them. "Must be nice, being able to get rid of it when you need to, and have it when you don't," she observes. "I guess I could do that too. Once or twice."
*
"You're biased." Tommy replies cheerfully; the Beach Boys are another one of those bands from the area that were still popular in his; their California Girls beats Katy Perry's anyday. "…and not entirely, 'cause I'm a pretty active drunk. I run into walls. Hope thinks it's hilarious." Pause. "She's probably right. Then it starts to go away and the hangover follows and /that/ doesn't go away so quickly." A shrug, "But when you grow up with situations like we do," he /means/ all three of them, even if Hope hasn't shared her story yet. It still applies to two. "It's worth it." Pause. "You'd probably need to save those for, like, poisons though, right? Life and death kinda things?" he assumes, taking a swig from the alcohol.
*
"Depends," says Nico with a shrug. "'Sober' isn't a spell that'd clear up poisons, and 'antidote' isn't going to get rid of alcohol — unless it's alcohol poisoning, which I guess is a real thing." She's a little dubious — but she's never dealt with people who drank THAT much. "I'm not planning on taking up drinking anyway, so it's likely moot."