If he's at all pleased by the prospect of food, you can't tell from his incredibly sour face. Coming from a man that's lived on canned food and rations for the last couple of years, it's a testament to just how fucked up this particular time traveler is.
He follows anyway, footsteps thudding and unhappy the entire way.
It's bizarre.
The diner is exactly as he remembers, and he feels out of place. Feels like he doesn't belong. The booths are neat and the walls are intact, it smells like food and the chatter is polite and conversational. It's so fucking.... domestic, it's so safe, that it's giving the world a dreamlike quality.
If he weren't already on edge, he sure as hell is now. He settles into the booth, but his thigh holster protests at the intrusion. He takes his gun out and sets it heavily onto the table to keep it from pressing into his thigh, seemingly without a second thought. Eyes dart around suspiciously, unhappily, like he's waiting for something to burst through the walls.
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He follows anyway, footsteps thudding and unhappy the entire way.
It's bizarre.
The diner is exactly as he remembers, and he feels out of place. Feels like he doesn't belong. The booths are neat and the walls are intact, it smells like food and the chatter is polite and conversational. It's so fucking.... domestic, it's so safe, that it's giving the world a dreamlike quality.
If he weren't already on edge, he sure as hell is now. He settles into the booth, but his thigh holster protests at the intrusion. He takes his gun out and sets it heavily onto the table to keep it from pressing into his thigh, seemingly without a second thought. Eyes dart around suspiciously, unhappily, like he's waiting for something to burst through the walls.