clussy: Ιͺᴄᴏɴ ʙʏ Ιͺᴄᴏɴsκœ°α΄Κ€Κ™Ιͺα΄›α΄„Κœα΄‡s (α΄›α΄œα΄Κ™ΚŸΚ€) (πš’πšœπŸΈπš 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšœπš‘πš’πš πš‘πš˜πš•πšŽ)
eddie kaspbrak ([personal profile] clussy) wrote in [community profile] quietplacelogs 2018-02-15 10:49 pm (UTC)

oh my god. no. i am so sorry. that is actually the worst thing that can happen.

(Eddie watches with absolute wonder as Frank goes about sealing off the kitchen. It looked actually pretty doable, and already his head was going over the mechanics of what could be done. He wonders why the natives didn't exchange metal for plastic to avoid squeaking hinges, but it's a passing thought.

He winds up regarding this hulking man right back. For just a brief, startling second, Eddie wonders if anyone would be able to hear him scream if the man tried something.

But then Frank is introducing himself, and Eddie unwinds from his momentary paranoia. His nose wrinkles up at the given nickname, yet it's just silly enough that he can't help but let out a quiet giggle.)


Hotdog? Seriously?

(It didn't even remotely fit the guy. But his laughter fades and he regards Frank seriously.)

Is it because you have powers or are a superhero or something?

(Eddie's met a lot of those back when he was on the station, and he knew that secrecy was a huge deal for them. It protected them. From their own enemies, from hateful people- anyone, really. So Eddie understood this and respected it deeply. He glances at the offered hand and after a shy pause, he takes it with his own significantly smaller hand and gives an awkward, weak sort of shake.)

Does your face hurt? (Cause it was bruised, he means.)

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