Diane's 'apartment' - such as it is - is on the third floor of a bored brick building. The door is chipped and grey, and it sticks. She has to kick it after she's turned the key in the lock.

"Sorry," she says, tone matching her word. "It's a bit of a dump. Bedsits, y'know?"

She holds the door open for him to come in and then hurries down the bandaid pink hall, past what might be the bathroom door and into the main room. The paint on the ceiling is chipping from the upstairs neighbour's leaky bathtub, and the furnishing consists of an old floral couch, a messy nest of assorted blankets and a pink suitcase.

She takes off her trenchcoat and throws it across the room - it lands on the arm of the couch - and she fluffs her damp hair. She's wearing a baggy velour sweater under the jacket, and it's barely decent.

"Tea, or chocolate?"

"No worse than my place," he points out-- and honestly, it isn't. His apartment is maybe a bit smaller and maybe a bit dingier, but it's definitely a close race. "'Least you've got a bit of color. Every wall in my place is institution-white."

Levi settles uneasily on the floral couch-- it looks almost like he's afraid it'll give way under him. "Chocolate, please. If it's not too much trouble." He tries not to study her and her barely-decent sweater, and winds up studying the floor instead.

"White would be my choice, over band-aid. I usaully like colour but this is so fleshy."

She walks through the doorway into the 'kitchen', her sweater riding up a bit. The kitchen's honestly not much bigger then a walk-in closet. "Do you have that with milk or water," she wants to know. She's banging cupboard doors in the kitchen, finding chipped mugs and the tin of chocolate powder.

"At least you get a little variation. I swear, plain white can drive people insane." The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, of course. Living with that particular shade of pink probably isn't any better than plain white. "Can you maybe paint over it? Do some nice shade of magenta or whatever?"

"I'll have it with milk," he says, glancing up from the floor to watch her putter around the kitchen.

She opens the fridge and takes out the milk, and then gets a saucepan from the cupboard. It's her only one, and it's got a dent in it. Just goes to show, really. Measuring the milk out, she wrinkles her nose at the walls and says, "that's clever. I should definitely paint it."

Of course, the landlord might have something to say about that. Diane doubts it - the walls are so ugly and so chipped that a free makeover is probably exactly what he wants.

She turns on the gas, letting a bit of it seep into the room - not enough to kill anyone, she hopes - while she looks around for the matches. They seem to keep moving around. Oh, there, in the cutlery drawer.

The gas lights with a satisfying 'woomph.'

She cooks better than he does-- as in, she actually uses the stove. He couldn't manage that if he tried. Microwaves and canned food are definitely some of his best friends. (He is maybe possibly being nice to Diane in the hopes that he can make an actual living, human friend.)

"Maybe paint all of the walls, if your landlord will let you. And if you have the time and money and all." He sort of doubts whether she has spare time and money. "It'd sure make the place look nicer, anyway. Not that it isn't already nice looking or anything, I mean it's a roof over your head, right?" Cue awkward silence, on Levi's part at least.

Diane just laughs at the akwardness of his sentence. It's a friendly laugh, mixed in with the rattle of cutlery in the drawer as she tries to find a spoon to stir the milk with. "I've got endless time," she tells him, brightly, "and no money at all. But I do appreciate the roof. Or rather, the upstairs neighbour's floor. Although it does leak. She's always flooding the bath and it comes right through the ceiling."

Leaving the spoon in the pot of milk she comes to lean in the doorway, giving Levi a thoughtful look. "And it's really awful looking, so don't pretend it's not."

"Better than no time and no money. I thought time was money, though-- guess nobody means that literally."

Levi meets her eyes for a long moment, then ducks his head to hide a grin. "It's not that bad. Even if the roof-- er, ceiling-- leaks." He's maintaining that he doesn't find her apartment completely revolting. At least it's dry.

"Oooh, if time were currency..." She sighs wishfully and returns to stir her milk, dipping a finger into the pot to check the tempature and then sucking it clean in a manner that's just slightly provactive, in a strangely domestic way. Her lipstick leaves a red smudge at the base of her finger. The milk is not quite hot enough yet. "I suppose it's something," she says. "It's cheap-ish, at least."

If time were currency, Levi would still be broke. He suspects that even winning the lotto wouldn't save him-- he seems doomed to be broke for eternity. (It's likely that his gambling habit has something to do with that.)

"Cheap-ish is always a plus."

"More of a requirement then a plus," she tells him, pouring the milk into mugs. One of them is almost the same pink as the walls, with a broken off handle, and the other is zebra shaped. The zebra has lost both its ears. She stirs the chocolate powder into the cups and carries them back into the living room.

"Handle, or no handle?"

"Well, yeah, for riffraff like us, I guess." He shrugged, finally settling back into the seat as if he'd decided it wasn't about to collapse.

"Handle, please." He thinks the ear-less zebra has a nice sort of charm to it.

She passes him the zebra. "It's name is Bob," she informs him, solemnly. She sets her mug down on the floor beside the suitcase, and sits down on the suitcase. It's probably a miracle it doesn't collapse under her weight. "He came from Scotland."

"It has a name?" Levi quirks an eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink. It's pleasantly warm, and he almost feels pampered. He hasn't had anyone serve him hot chocolate since he was thirteen or so.

"Scotland, huh? Does that mean you've been there?"

"Once," she says, cradling her mug. "But I've family from there, and they're always going over and bringing me back stuff. I've no idea why a zebra mug. You'd think water-dragons or highland cows would be more appropriate." She shrugs, dismissing the inexplicable humour of people.

"At least they bring you stuff," Levi comments, studying the zebra. "Nice of 'em." He takes another sip. "What happened to Bob's ears? Accidental fall off a countertop? Suicide attempt? Damaged on his travels?" He kind of hopes it's the latter-- as if the mug's great adventures will rub off on him, and maybe he'll get to do something exciting in the near future.

"That was kinda my fault," Diane admits. She still hasn't drunk any of her chocolate, seemingly content just to cradle it. "He was in my backpack on the way up here and I dropped it headfirst. In Berlin, the New Hampshire one, not the German one. I suppose I should have wrapped him up a bit better, but it does add character."

He rubs the rough spots where the zebra's ears used to be. "Poor thing. Why is it always the painful stuff that adds character? It hardly seems fair."

Levi is starting to realize just how weird this whole situation is-- he's in a virtual stranger's apartment, sipping hot chocolate and discussing a zebra mug. Honestly, he's had some dreams that were less bizarre.

"Perhaps happiness is just mellowing," Diane suggests. She doesn't seem to find anything abnormal about the situation - but then again, it was her idea. She takes a sip of her chocolate, apparently uncaring that her sweater has become a whole lot less decent since she sat down. Levi could probably get a glimpse of her lacy black knickers without putting much effort into it.

In fact, this might actually be a dream. Where else is Levi going to get the chance to hang around with a scantily-clad woman? Not that he's even looking-- if anything he's trying a little too hard to keep his eyes on his hot chocolate.

"Maybe."

Diane wouldn't be particularly concerned even if Levi was looking. She licks the rim of the cup where a bit of chocolate spilt and smiles over at him. She could assure him it wasn't a dream. Dreams involving Diane usaully have rubber ducks, too. "And given the way life is, it's not really suprising everyone hasn't turned into a marshmallow," she adds, as if this is logical.

"I wouldn't mind being a marshmallow if it meant not dealing with the rough spots." He takes another gulp of hot chocolate, then realizes that he doesn't have any marshmallows floating around his mug. (He wonders if she was even thinking about that when she mentioned marshmallows.)

"I bet everybody would want to live the easy life if they could, anyway."

"Not really. It would be kinda dull."

Like trauma and tradgedy merely add interest. "And anyway, everyone knows that eating too many marshmallows make you sick," she adds. It sounds like cliched moralising, but it's perfectly true. She hasn't made the marshmallow - chocolate connection yet. She's thinking more of roasting them on the barbeque in the backyard.

"Well, dull, yeah. I'd still take that over miserable," he comments. "Also, being sick isn't that bad, if it's for the sake of marshmallows."

All of this is really making him crave marshmallows, in any incarnation. If he had anywhere to roast them (and money to buy them, and if it wasn't raining), he'd probably go make s'mores or something.

"We should have marshmallows," Diane says, thoughtfully. "Marshmallows are best roasted. I haven't got a barbeque. Well, I don't have any marshmallows at the moment, either. But I'm sure I could acquire some in the future."

She smiles vaguely. She's decided she rather likes Levi. She likes the sort of quiet way he has of being. She's already decided she'd like to have him 'round again - although she rather doubts it's a desire he shares.

"We should," he agrees, slightly more enthusiastic than usual. "Dunno where we'd roast them--" on her stove, maybe, if they can't find anywhere better. "-- but it'd be fun."

Levi isn't opposed to the idea of hanging out with Diane again. He's just... hesitant. He doesn't have friends, exactly, and it feels so odd to actually hang out with someone for fun.

"Maybe we can set up a bonfire on the beach?" It'd be a nice nod to how they met.

"Brillant," Diane says, grinning. "We'd need a somewhat drier day then today, I think. But we should get one, I mean, it is summer, isn't it?"

She's now aware that there's a slightly warm feeling around her neck and that she's about to start babbling. And probably gushing, too. She crushes the instinct, telling herself she must not crush on guys picked up at the beach. Must not.

"It has to dry up eventually, unless the apocalypse is coming-- in which case I think we have bigger problems." There's a smile tugging at his lips, and he seems to have forgotten his hot chocolate. This is just the sort of thing he has always wanted to do but never really found the time for. "We'll have to buy marshmallows and stuff-- and I wonder if it's even legal to burn stuff on the beach..."

Levi would be even more uncomfortable if he suspected Diane was even starting to crush on him. (He's already uncomfortable enough with her dressed the way she is.) Not that he has anything against her-- he simply isn't used to the idea.

"I don't imagine it would occur to anyone to check," she points out, taking a large gulp of hot chocolate and smirking. She doesn't get the idea that Levi is the sort who a girl should get all gushy about. He'd probably take it poorly. It hasn't occured to her that her outfit is worrying. It's merely what she through on that morning, and when you've spent as much time as she has dressing like a tart, you start to forget that people react. "But my memory is that it is."

Legal, that is.

Levi is the sort to take most anything out of the ordinary poorly. It's a wonder he's done so much today-- talked to a complete stranger, went back to her apartment, and had a nice long talk. It's good for him, sure, but definitely unusual.

Maybe he's actually starting to broaden his horizons.

"Oh. Well that's good, then." His mind wanders for a moment as he sips his chocolate (which is now going lukewarm). "I guess it'll be a kind of lonely bonfire if it's just the two of us."

"I'm pretty new around here," - meaning she doesn't know many people - "but I'm sure I could find a friend or so to drag along."

She's thinking of Jessie, who is her new favourite friend. She figures that could be fun. Jessie's not too scary. "She doesn't bite," she adds, helpfully. Levi seems like he could be quite easy to terrify. "Well, I don't think she does. Uhm. Not much, anyway."

Ah well. Forget not scaring the poor guy.

"Better than I can do. I don't know anyone all that well." As in, this is the first time he's been been to someone else's house in a long while. "Even if she does bite, it'll make our bonfire a little less pathetic, huh?" His smile is a little unsure, anyway. He's having a hard enough time with Diane, who has yet to bite him.

"Maybe if we keep her mouth busy with marshmallows, she won't bite me," he murmurs dryly.

"I didn't think you did," Diane says. She sets her cup down on the floor beside the suitcase. "You seem a bit... unsocialised. She may bite but I don't."

Well, not much. But she's not about to tell Levi about any particular kinks she may or may not have. He doesn't deserve to have that knowledge thrust upon him - it might cause his poor wee mind to implode, given the look on his face at the moment.

"Unsocialized?" He'd prefer 'a bit of a loner' or 'an introvert' or 'deeply involved in his work'-- something phrased a little more gently. Levi supposes he is a little unsocialized; he's only just coming out of his shell. "Well if you want to put it like that..." he grumbles with a slight frown.

"I kind of figured you'd have bitten me by now if you were so inclined."

"Sorry," she says, although she doesn't sound particularly broken up about it. "That wasn't the nicest word, was it? But it wasn't meant to be mean."

She rather likes it, in fact. It makes feel like there's some deep quiet to him. "Not really," she adds, "I don't usaully bite unless I feel threatened." She wrinkles her nose at him. "Are you threatening? If so, please don't scare Bob... He's got fragile nerves."

Levi shrugs; he figures she didn't mean in it a mean way. She doesn't seem the sort to put people down for no reason.

He doesn't recognize a deep quiet in himself-- mostly he has all manner of thoughts flitting through his head. It's quite possible that he'd be the serene sort if he'd let himself.

"Do you feel threatened?" he asks, genuinely curious. There's no better measure of whether or not he is threatening. It takes Levi a few seconds to remember that Bob is his mug; he grins when he remembers. "Bob is in good hands, unless me drinking his insides is somehow frightening."

She shakes her head. Her hair is starting to dry out, in a crinkly way - not quite as straight as she blowdried it this morning.

"Not by you, particularly. I met this weird kid at the amusement park an' he was kinda scary. Unlike you. I guess you could be a closet physchopath, but you don't seem particularly dangerous." And face it, if she were that easily scared, she shouldn't be taking strange men home from the beach. She wouldn't have done if she'd thought he was going to murder her, obviously.

"Bob doesn't mind having his insides drunk out - he finds it to be theraputic."

"Oh. Thanks, I guess." Being threatening isn't good, exactly, but it'd be nice to not be so meek all of the time. "I don't think I'd make a good closet psychopath. I'd have to be a little more malicious, I think." Or a little malicious to start with.


"Bob has odd tastes in therapy," he says before downing the last of his hot chocolate.

"Yeah. It may come from having no ears," she suggests, draining her mug. Some people would find a trashily dressed girl who insists that her earless zebra mug is called Bob and has a personality to be scary. Even if she wasn't malicious, she could still be alarming.

"Possibly. It may also have something to do with being a mug." He shrugs. Levi isn't too put off by Diane-- it's abnormal enough that he's socializing. Discussing an anthropomorphic mug doesn't make it that much worse.

He scoots her coat aside and sets Bob on the arm of the couch, turning the zebra to face Diane.