shewaswarned | (no subject)

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tommy conlon

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Ellen's next trip to the clothes box is slightly successful. It gives her more than a sundress, at least. And in her conversations with others, she's finding out more and more about this place. Like the fact that there's more than just the bar — or the pub, at least. There's two, if you count the one that serves food in addition to drinks, but it's not a meal she's after. She needs to be out, to avoid the inevitability of allowing herself to stay cooped up in her room for too long. It's when she's alone with her thoughts that it becomes dangerous. She thinks of David, too often, and she needs to give herself the chance to forget, at least for now.

She's not going to let herself feel guilty. She's not even going to allow herself to dwell. Instead, she's going to take a seat at the bar, wearing a white dress patterned with flowers that miraculously fits her like a glove, her shoulders and cheeks tinged pink from the sun, and as she orders herself a martini, it's almost starting to feel like she's back at home. She closes her eyes, anticipating the sound of the cabs outside, the occasional horn blaring, the noise of Manhattan streets in the evening. Instead, a slight breeze from beyond the coverings brings in a burst of warm air, and when she breathes in, she can smell the sea salt still lingering.

Ellen sighs audibly, reaches for her drink as it comes, and takes a long, long sip, exhaling softly as she sets the glass back down on the bar. Her gaze trails down towards the other end, locking onto the unfamiliar slope of a pair of shoulders, and she finds herself momentarily transfixed.

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One thing about the island that wasn't all that different from home: You sure didn't have to go far to find a drink.

He'd lasted all of a week, avoiding every tiki-style watering hole like his life depended on it, the vision of his father drunk and ranting in his goddamn bathrobe so fresh in his mind that the idea of getting plastered left him feeling ill. But that's the thing about addictions. They aren't logical and they're damn hard to shake.

That first day, he ordered a beer and then spent twenty minutes just staring into the glass before drinking it down. Now, he'd ordered himself a whiskey, just one, and he'd been nursing it for a while now, fingertips trailing along the rim of the glass.

That's when he felt eyes on him and his head swiveled to get a look down the bar, his gaze landing on yet another beautiful woman. They really were everywhere.

At first glance, the resemblance is there, the slight similarities in facial features, but that's where it ends. He's bigger, broader, mostly in the shoulders and arms and what she can see of his torso. While Ellen's heard about her own resemblance to other woman, none of whom of actually made it to the island at any point in time, she's never come across someone who looks like a person she knows here, two people with physical attributes in common.

She realizes only too late that she's been staring and flushes, attempting to make amends by offering a polite smile. If that doesn't help, it doesn't matter. She's already up on her feet and rounding the bar, leaving her own empty glass behind as she stops to stand in front of him, loosely crossing her arms.

"Sorry," she replies, her smile widening and turning sheepish. "You just - look a little like someone I know."

You couldn't expect to spend every minute alone in a bar, but Tommy always felt a little weird, being approached by a stranger. There'd been a time when he could've talked to just about anyone, when his smiles were easier, but not anymore.

Sitting up straighter and arching a brow, Tommy said, "I've been getting that look since I got here. Thought it was just 'cause I was new."

"That could partly be the reason," she admits, shrugging one shoulder. She's grown more confident in approaching people as the days go on, or maybe it has something to do with how freely she's been approached. Either way, maybe it's a sign that she's fully beginning to adjust.

"But you do look like him, just a little bit," Ellen adds, drawing an invisible circle in the air around her face with her index finger. "Especially in the face." She drops her hand to offer it to him. "I'm Ellen, by the way."

Heaving out a breath of laughter, he shook his head, because knowing that there was someone who looked like him, in the face or not, was more than he wanted to deal with.

He shook her hand, which felt tiny and fragile in his, and said, "I'm Tommy. It's nice to meet you."

She lifts an eyebrow, slightly confused about his particular reaction to the knowledge that someone here looks like him, but she clasps his hand briefly, gently yet firm.

"It's probably a little odd for you, all things considered," she admits. "I've been told I look like all these other women, but none of them are actually here for me to know for sure."

"How much do I actually look like this guy? You said a little bit. Sounds like it's more than that," Tommy said, 'cause otherwise she wouldn't be making a big deal of it. This was more than just the usual you remind me of someone. He'd been on the island long enough to have heard vague things about doubles. Clones. But somehow he'd managed not to run into this other guy.

"Let me put it to you this way," she replies, sidling into the seat next to his, one forearm gently resting on the bar as she glances over.

"There's way more differences than similarities. You're not exactly carbon copies of one another. For one thing, as soon as you open your mouth, different accents, for starters, plus you're, well - " She breaks off for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to phrase it, the fact that as far as she can tell beneath the baggy clothes, there's nothing to be found but muscle.

"I'm, well--?" he said, a bit of amusement sparking behind his eyes. As a kid, he'd been arrogant. Where had all that Theogenes, greatest fighter in the world crap come from if not an inflated ego? He'd trash talked with the best of them, bragged up a storm whenever a mic was shoved in his face, but that had all ended a long time ago.

Nowadays, he didn't like talking about himself, sure as hell didn't like hearing all that crap on the news about how great he was, but whatever she was about to say, coupled with that look on her face... Well, it was kinda cute, truth be told.

There's a way of saying what she wants to that won't be completely embarrassing, she's almost positive, and maybe it's had something to do with the drink already running through her system, but right now she starts to fumble for her words, and finally Ellen settles for cutting herself off, pinching her lips together firmly and ducking her head with a laugh.

"Okay, how's this: you probably wear a different size than he does," she finally adds, after a beat, but then somehow she finds a way to even ruin the most non-incriminating way of stating what she wants to. "And probably in everything."

"Right, got it," Tommy said with a snort of laughter, reaching for his glass and knocking it back in one go.

"Guess I oughta take it as a blessing. Gettin' mistaken for some guy I never met might get old pretty quick."

"Maybe I'm the only one who's noticed," Ellen replies, shrugging casually, although she doesn't imagine that's necessarily the case.

"It's probably better to have someone who looks like you here than to have several someones who look like you in lots of different universes. Or so people tell me," she adds. "So far I've been called at least three names that weren't my own."

"Jesus," Tommy breathed, offering her a sympathetic wince. "Well, for what it's worth, I can tell you I've never seen your face before."

He was pretty sure hers was a face you'd remember.

She smiles, quick but genuine, and then turns to grab the attention of the man tending bar, ordering a beer for herself. It's island-brewed, but it's not half-bad.

"It's okay. I think it'd be stranger if they were all here," she admits, taking a swig of the beer as it comes. "And if it helps, you've distinguished yourself enough in my mind to be completely unforgettable." Or at least unmistakable, as far as Eames is concerned.

"Yeah, all right," he said, taking that for what it was worth. He didn't feel the need to go comparing himself to some guy he'd never met, anyway. As far as Tommy was concerned, they didn't have a thing in common.

"How long you been here?"

"Little over two months?" she tells him, figuring out the length of time itself as she's speaking, and grins slowly.

"Definitely not for very long. In fact, I'm probably still considered new, though not as new as you are, apparently."

"Guess that explains why everybody's hovering around, all curious," he muttered, cutting her a look and offering a tight smile, "No offense."

He should've been used to it. During Sparta, he'd had reporters all up in his face, shoving mics and flashing cameras at him. Clamoring for interviews, for information on the mysterious Tommy Riordan. He'd evaded it all pretty artfully, but these one on one barrages of questions felt more personal than he really knew what to do with. This wasn't the type of place you could disappear. They all seemed relatively close-knit and protective of one another. A new face was something to pay attention to.

"None taken," Ellen promises, taking another swig of her beer. "Though there's never a shortage of newcomers, so I'm sure the attention will inevitably transfer to the slightly newer ones, given time. Especially if you're not necessarily a fan of being gawked at."

She doesn't mind answering questions about herself, as long as people tend to stick to the basics. Then again, she's not going to go out of her way to lie, but that might be simply because no one's asked her about the harder truths yet. Maybe it's better this way. Keeping her conversations on the lighter side has proven to be the best decision thus far. "The excitement will die down. It always does."

She meant it to be a comfort, but it wasn't. When the excitement died down, then he'd be stuck accepting it. Settling in. Resigning to the fact that he was fuck knows where, far from everything he knew. And even though the break from his life should've been a blessing, he couldn't help but feel like he'd left just a few too many loose ends.

"So, uh... What's there even to do around here? I mean, other than become a drunk?"

"Good question. I'm still trying to figure that part out," Ellen replies, her tone lighter than her expression.

"No, but seriously, there's plenty to do to fill up time. They've got the school, and there's the rec room. I spent some time exercising, but that's only because I'm not running to catch any taxis anymore," she adds, smiling slowly. Besides, she doesn't think he's going to have any trouble staying in shape. "There's also a jazz club that doubles as a strip joint." She's still debating whether or not to show her face there. "And the island - it finds ways to surprise us from time to time. The other day, we had a full amusement park appear, but there was also a downside to the whole weekend of rides."

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