sixwordstories | (no subject)

[Amy instantly scrunches up her nose, not too terribly pleased at the smoke as it lingers toward her.]

*He could have spared a little extra effort to move someplace where the smoke wouldn't be drifting toward people, but why would he want to do that? Inconveniencing others is one of the few pleasures in Thomas' life right now. He gives the woman a baleful look.*

What are you looking at?

[She had to bite her tongue suddenly, careful of the words that left her mouth in that moment. With a wave of her hand to disperse the air around her, she furrowed her brow slightly.]

Couldn't you blow your smoke elsewhere?

[coughs] Thanks a lot, man.

You're welcome.

*Attractive men get the same flat, rude deadpan as everyone else, but Jim gets a bit of subtle ogling as well. Hello, Captain.*

Don't you know how to stand downwind?

Apparently not. [But that's not the real issue here. The real issue is that he's very, very lost.]

Whatever. Can you tell me where the hell I am?

There's no need to be rude. *Except, of course, if you're Thomas. He blows out another stream of smoke, with a faint smirk.*

Where'd you come from, then, if you don't even know where you are?

No, there's really not. [Witness how unimpressed Jim is by that.]

Far away, apparently. Let's just assume outer space and go from there.

Well, you're in a right mess, then, aren't you?

You're in Ripon. It's in Yorkshire. Which is in England. And that's in Europe.

Funny how moon men sound suspiciously like Americans, isn't it? I wouldn't have thought. It's a bit disappointing.

Pretty much, yeah. Thanks for pointing that out.

[Ripon. Yorkshire. England. Okay, that's helpful, if a bit baffling. The real problem is the year, but he can't ask that.]

So sorry to disappoint you... I don't suppose you have a newspaper?

*Glares.*

*Thomas arches an eyebrow and exhales another stream of smoke. By chance, it doesn't happen to blow into the man's face this time.*

*He grins, suddenly and maniacally.* Do that again and I will kill you. Slowly, with lots and lot of screaming.

Could you not do that? [He won't even add a "please".]

I can do what I want. Not my fault if you're standing in an inconvenient spot, is it?

You could always try asking nicely, I suppose.

[Choking, she backs up, holding her arms up as if prepared to be attacked.] I didn't do anything to deserve that...

*Thomas has seen a lot of faces that are missing features, during his time in the trenches and the hospitals. Never like this, though. This, he doesn't even know how to process.*

Lord a'mighty.

*He takes another long drag on his cigarette, trying to regain his composure. He's quite rattled.*

...What's it to you? You haven't got a nose.

I can't breathe it. It's not air.

[She backs up, tilting her head down so her very purposeful haircut will hide some of her lacking attributes.] And just because I was born like this doesn't mean it's okay to hurt me. My dad said so.

I'm breathing it, aren't I? It's only smoke. It's not going to hurt you, dummy.

*As long as she can't see him, he's just going to avert his eyes. He's a little more squeamish about this than he is about wounded soldiers, for some reason.*

Neither am I. I wouldn't go to the trouble.

Smoking hurts people. It makes them sick.

[It's a little eerie, though. She turns her head to zero in on his voice and it's almost like she's looking at him.] So why did you blow smoke at me at all?

Do you think you could possibly do that in another direction?