He shakes his head. "No. Mostly it just stood there, not doing anything, just... being creepy."

But that's how it starts, in his experience. Little things, easily brushed off the first few times they make an appearance. Oh, it's just a trick of the light. Just seeing things. Just his imagination, acting up because he's too tired, too drunk, too high-- or not high enough.

And, okay, he's really trying to hold the history fanboying back, but as soon as Doc gives his full name, Jeff's eyes start to go wide with boyish excitement. It's like he's six years old and just stumbled into the living room on Christmas morning to find a fucking mountain of presents.

"Holy shit!"

There's a tiny part of Jeff that's crowing right now. I knew it!. Except he didn't really know it, did he. He'd just thought it was, most likely, a funny coincidence. A playful nickname.

"Decrepit is about the last word I'd use for you." He's really doing his best not to grin and get all goofy and weird (well, weirder than usual) at the man. But it's just so fucking cool. He's talking to Doc Holliday. The fucking Doc Holliday!

For the moment, he's totally forgotten all about his budding theories about magic and the shades in the mirrors.