With a soft sigh and an understanding smile, Lydia shakes her head. "Not all of us died, sweetie. Just some of us. Believe it or not, it's a parallel Earth. The portals used to be intentional to help superheroes travel from Earth to Earth to help in crises, apparently, but somewhere along the way, they went haywire and it started pulling in all the riff-raff living in this interdimensional waystation of an apartment complex," she explains, a little surprised that they didn't already explain this to him. Maybe they did and he was still too much in shock to absorb it. If he died, then that sounds about right, she supposes.
"Oh, I only do pillow fights in my lingerie with other girls, specifically in slow motion," she replies with feigned seriousness before breaking and laughing a little. "I'm more of a pillow talker than pillow fighter, personally."
She nods a little, grin softening back into something more empathetic when he speaks again to answer her question. "I'm a banshee. I can predict death...it's probably the least pleasant superpower of all time," she sighs. "And I don't think most people are really ready to die. My best friend died trying to save my life because even though I told her to, she wouldn't run, either. You brave, stupid idiots," she says with a sad sort of fondness, eyes shifting toward the door to Allison's old room. "She was here for a while, but got sent back again while the portals were still all fritzed out."
Lydia nods toward the room. "That was her room and that's why it's empty." Another sad smile crosses her expression and then Lydia shuts down the emotion again. It's a conditioned response, especially in the presence of men.
His response to her question about home has her smiling again, this time more knowingly. "Oh, I know that feeling. Beacon Hills, California. 2020," she replies. "I also thought it was the most boring place on Earth until I was bitten by a fucking werewolf and my entire world turned upside down," she answers, leaning back against the couch and regarding him thoughtfully.
Clearing her throat, Lydia lifts her chin with interest. "So what got ya, big guy? Must be they cleaned you up pretty good before they sent you here, or else you lucked out into a less traumatic death than most people here I've met..."
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"Oh, I only do pillow fights in my lingerie with other girls, specifically in slow motion," she replies with feigned seriousness before breaking and laughing a little. "I'm more of a pillow talker than pillow fighter, personally."
She nods a little, grin softening back into something more empathetic when he speaks again to answer her question. "I'm a banshee. I can predict death...it's probably the least pleasant superpower of all time," she sighs. "And I don't think most people are really ready to die. My best friend died trying to save my life because even though I told her to, she wouldn't run, either. You brave, stupid idiots," she says with a sad sort of fondness, eyes shifting toward the door to Allison's old room. "She was here for a while, but got sent back again while the portals were still all fritzed out."
Lydia nods toward the room. "That was her room and that's why it's empty." Another sad smile crosses her expression and then Lydia shuts down the emotion again. It's a conditioned response, especially in the presence of men.
His response to her question about home has her smiling again, this time more knowingly. "Oh, I know that feeling. Beacon Hills, California. 2020," she replies. "I also thought it was the most boring place on Earth until I was bitten by a fucking werewolf and my entire world turned upside down," she answers, leaning back against the couch and regarding him thoughtfully.
Clearing her throat, Lydia lifts her chin with interest. "So what got ya, big guy? Must be they cleaned you up pretty good before they sent you here, or else you lucked out into a less traumatic death than most people here I've met..."