[Ches doesn't know it, but she's got his number - he's not the most uncomplicated person out there, but his life is mostly uncomplicated, at least the side of it she's seeing. And he's certainly certain of himself, doesn't present anything he's not, though he's not necessarily presenting all of it.
And he's pleased to be on amicable terms with Wanda, who seems like an interesting woman, pleasantly open, easy to talk to. When she says it's a crime to have kompot anything but cold in summer, he grins at her.]
Well then, cold it is.
[With that, he heads over to the fridge and opens it. He's pointedly ignoring the simulacrum of his brother, a tall blond-haired young man with brown skin and bright eyes. This version of Dusty is like him, but not enough, not enough to be anything but a little uncanny, especially because he doesn't talk, doesn't interact much beyond making whatever food you ask him for. How he'd managed to recreate the kitchen down to the last detail but failed so spectacularly at recreating his brother...it makes sense, in a way, because people are more complicated than things. But he knows his brother so well, he's not sure how he could've gotten him so long.
Pulling out the pitcher of kompot, he moves across the kitchen easily and pulls down two clean tall glasses, pours each of them a portion of the drink, makes sure they each have a decent amount of whole fruit in it, and then heads over to the table, setting the glasses down. Gesturing to the table with its mismatched chairs, he smiles at Wanda.]
Have a seat!
[He settles in himself, at the chair at the head of the table, with worn upholstery and armrests, and reaches over to pull a plate toward himself, with another plate upside-down on top. Pulling off the top plate, he reveals a few homemade chocolate chip cookies.]
Help yourself. I'll hold off on the vodka for now, myself.
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And he's pleased to be on amicable terms with Wanda, who seems like an interesting woman, pleasantly open, easy to talk to. When she says it's a crime to have kompot anything but cold in summer, he grins at her.]
Well then, cold it is.
[With that, he heads over to the fridge and opens it. He's pointedly ignoring the simulacrum of his brother, a tall blond-haired young man with brown skin and bright eyes. This version of Dusty is like him, but not enough, not enough to be anything but a little uncanny, especially because he doesn't talk, doesn't interact much beyond making whatever food you ask him for. How he'd managed to recreate the kitchen down to the last detail but failed so spectacularly at recreating his brother...it makes sense, in a way, because people are more complicated than things. But he knows his brother so well, he's not sure how he could've gotten him so long.
Pulling out the pitcher of kompot, he moves across the kitchen easily and pulls down two clean tall glasses, pours each of them a portion of the drink, makes sure they each have a decent amount of whole fruit in it, and then heads over to the table, setting the glasses down. Gesturing to the table with its mismatched chairs, he smiles at Wanda.]
Have a seat!
[He settles in himself, at the chair at the head of the table, with worn upholstery and armrests, and reaches over to pull a plate toward himself, with another plate upside-down on top. Pulling off the top plate, he reveals a few homemade chocolate chip cookies.]
Help yourself. I'll hold off on the vodka for now, myself.