"Then what...?" Luther starts, glancing over at her, following her train of thought but not following it all the way to the end of the path. Always far too serious for his own good. Like no end of occasions in the past when Number Three had been the one to cut through that rigid somber self-importance; the one to make him loosen up and start joking around, those blink-and-you'll-miss-it moments of Number One being more lighthearted. She was always the best at dragging it out of him, and sometimes the only one who could.
Before he can finish his question, though, someone's stepped out of their place in line to talk to them: a younger teenaged boy, star-struck. "Excuse me, you're Spaceboy, aren't you?" he asks, and Luther finally tears his focus away from the menu and from Allison in order to look at the civilian. He blinks, and it's like the ordinary people are becoming visible again for the first time since the museum. He'd looked right over and past them when they first entered the shop; irrelevant, beneath his notice, just like he'd been taught.
"I am, yeah," he says, and there's that familiar mask slipping into place again. The same lilt to his voice that he'd used when he had to schmooze back at the museum, or in interviews. "Are you a fan?"
"Your biggest! Could I get an autograph? And you—" The kid's voice turns hushed and awed, as he looks over at Allison. "You're The Rumor. Nobody's seen you two together in ages."
From the mouths of babes. Luther feels those words like a sliver beneath his fingernails, and he wonders if she ever takes offense at that, at the way so many people still remember her for the Academy rather than this new, delicate career she's been carving out for herself. But she must be used to this. The way it kept cropping up in the press, haunting her the past couple years.
And then, on top of that, the reminder. For both of them. Of how very long it's been since the two of them even occupied the same physical space together.
Luther's smile flickers, a temporary dimming, before he's able to marshal it back into place. "How about it?" he asks, looking at her again. "Two-for-one autograph, and we make this kid's day?"
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Before he can finish his question, though, someone's stepped out of their place in line to talk to them: a younger teenaged boy, star-struck. "Excuse me, you're Spaceboy, aren't you?" he asks, and Luther finally tears his focus away from the menu and from Allison in order to look at the civilian. He blinks, and it's like the ordinary people are becoming visible again for the first time since the museum. He'd looked right over and past them when they first entered the shop; irrelevant, beneath his notice, just like he'd been taught.
"I am, yeah," he says, and there's that familiar mask slipping into place again. The same lilt to his voice that he'd used when he had to schmooze back at the museum, or in interviews. "Are you a fan?"
"Your biggest! Could I get an autograph? And you—" The kid's voice turns hushed and awed, as he looks over at Allison. "You're The Rumor. Nobody's seen you two together in ages."
From the mouths of babes. Luther feels those words like a sliver beneath his fingernails, and he wonders if she ever takes offense at that, at the way so many people still remember her for the Academy rather than this new, delicate career she's been carving out for herself. But she must be used to this. The way it kept cropping up in the press, haunting her the past couple years.
And then, on top of that, the reminder. For both of them. Of how very long it's been since the two of them even occupied the same physical space together.
Luther's smile flickers, a temporary dimming, before he's able to marshal it back into place. "How about it?" he asks, looking at her again. "Two-for-one autograph, and we make this kid's day?"