(no subject)

[heatherandsteel]

Quentin's found a hockey game, some US college teams on the Milliways TV and he's sprawled out on the couch with a selection of burritos from Bar.

At the moment, he's eating the seafood one and occasionally yelling at the TV, sometimes in French.

Comments

[hasthehighground]

Clint's not used to feeling this tired, and ill-at-ease in public. He's not too worried about anyone here, there's just -- a lot of them.

A hockey game in the corner of the room is a little more manageable, and he sits in a comfy chair pretty close to the sofa. "Who're you rooting for?"

[heatherandsteel]

"Samwell, red and white. Beautiful pass,"

He says as the puck flies across the ice and gestures to the food as he glances at Clint.

[hasthehighground]

"Thanks," Clint says, and waves his hand a little in polite refusal. He smiles, at the corner of his eyes. "Maybe later."

A mixture of not really being hungry, and just... not knowing the guy. The obvious non-human-ness doesn't really factor in. Milliways.

After awhile: "These guys from Earth?"

[heatherandsteel]

"Not mine and East Coast, Boston area I think,"

At the refusal, Quentin just nods and inhales the last bites of his burrito as there's a great save.

[hasthehighground]

Clint nods. He's never been anywhere cold enough or stable enough to really sustain an interest in ice hockey -- street hockey, sure, but soccer beat that hands down when he was a kid.

It's interesting, seeing how the pucks and hockey sticks interact, how the lines through the ice from the other players effect trajectory. He can tell already that some area of the rink are "stickier" than other, and he draws up a leg to lean against as he observes.

It's kind of an old habit that he's mostly stamped out, but it's been a shit month. No reason not to regress to what's comfortable.

[heatherandsteel]

As he watches, Quentin ends up sitting up as he gets into the game with more Quebecois cursing.

Its a tight game with good teams and he comments on the best plays as clearly the other guy gets it.

[hasthehighground]

Clint listens, amiably, learning -- then he suddenly straightens. "You idiot --"

The shot gets taken, anyway, and the puck bounces off the edge of the --goal? He thinks it's a goal. Net, or whatever.

He settles back with a disappointed mutter.

[heatherandsteel]

"I know, he could have gotten it,"

Quentin sighs and finishes up the last burrito.

[hasthehighground]

Clint makes a noise of not-quite-agreement. "His approach was off," he says.

The television flips to commercials, and he glances over to the teenager. "You from Boston?"

He sounds more -- mainstream urban Canadian-ish, but that could just be from his folks.

[heatherandsteel]

"From Toronto, living in San Francisco. You?"

Nothing about how he talks points to a particular area from what Quentin knows.

[hasthehighground]

"San Diego," Clint says. "But, uh -- I think different worlds."

He grins at Quentin, and it's got a hint of good-natured sheepishness.

[heatherandsteel]

"Probably not unless yours have Fae in it. I'm Quentin,"

He smiles back and offers his hand as the game returns.