Which is followed by a mad rush to shove everything on her desk into the nearby file cabinet, jamming the papers in wherever they'll fit before locking up. Shared office space makes for odd habits, including leaving the door open when she goes (throwing whatever won't fit into the cabinet into her cavernous shoulder bag). It's a short walk to the bookstore which is why she fancied it in the first place - near enough to be convenient, just far and tiny enough that it isn't choked full by students.
It takes her slightly less than twenty minutes to arrive, shouldering through the door. Her bag catches on it and she grumbles briefly under her breath as she wrestles it free. For god's sake-- Once loose, she scans the area: slowly moving through the shop and casting glances down the aisles for the familiar shape of Charlie's broad figure.
The shop's nearly empty this time of day. True that it hardly pulls in customers during its busiest hours, but there's something remarkably unnatural about an empty shop with no staff on hand.
Frazer-- well-burrowed in the back through a maze of tangled aisles-- hears the bag catch, hears muttering and the steady click of Meera's eager little footsteps. She's done herself the favor of switching Charlie's cell to silent, laying it out behind the cover of her book so the inevitable text won't slip past her watch.
She hesitates to say there's a usual place she expects Charlie Cutter to be - sixth aisle back, military and world history mostly - but there are certain spots she gravitates to first and finds herself disappointed when he isn't in any of them. She checks her phone, lingering in the cramped aisle, and then stuffs it back into her bag. She'll give it a moment, she thinks. He's been caught up somewhere. It'd be silly to text.
No sense standing about though. So Meera gravitates naturally in the direction of one of the back corners of the shop, slowly scanning the aisles as she makes her way toward her own territory. She pauses when rounding a corner, spotting the other woman at the end of the aisle, and purposefully busies herself with an arbitrary spot on the nearest shelf. She finds herself picking through some backdated issues of a lit journal she doesn't recognize - dull. Dull enough to take out her phone:
It's a ghost town here. You might actually fit through the aisles now.
Which she reads perfectly from where she's seated, the brief flash of light from Cutter's phone too to be obvious, though the humor doesn't catch. Frazer follows it of course, but the appeal less so.
She gives it a good while to let disappointment sink in before glancing up from a section detailing the particular causes of cardiac arrest.
She holds onto her phone for a few moments, thumbing along the row of journals absently as she waits for it to buzz back a response. When it doesn't, she flips it over and unlocks the screen-- hesitates and--
Meera looks up when addressed, mouth slightly pursed. She smiles, just marginally embarrassed with herself. Christ, she looks like an idiot. "I'm meeting a friend."
Frazer attempts to match it. And cold as her expression might be, it's passable, particularly for a conversation with a stranger that's not searching beneath the cracks. The phone's curled under her palm. Swept up and tucked away when she shuts her book and gives Meera her full, undivided attention.
"You must be early, then." there's a pause as she cranes her neck around to check a few nearby aisles; all show, no purpose. "No one's been in all afternoon."
The flicker of surprise and disappointment is evident in turns on her face; there's no attempt to keep it hidden away, no element of subterfuge. She's confused, momentarily at a loss and - like anyone ought to -, she looks it.
"Oh. That's odd." She turns the phone in her hand and then self consciously tucks it back into her purse. "He said he was already here. But that's alright; he must have been caught up by something."
Which isn't something she actually believes and if he texts again she'll make a point of being cross with him, but it's the sort of thing you tell a stranger.
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no subject
Which is followed by a mad rush to shove everything on her desk into the nearby file cabinet, jamming the papers in wherever they'll fit before locking up. Shared office space makes for odd habits, including leaving the door open when she goes (throwing whatever won't fit into the cabinet into her cavernous shoulder bag). It's a short walk to the bookstore which is why she fancied it in the first place - near enough to be convenient, just far and tiny enough that it isn't choked full by students.
It takes her slightly less than twenty minutes to arrive, shouldering through the door. Her bag catches on it and she grumbles briefly under her breath as she wrestles it free. For god's sake-- Once loose, she scans the area: slowly moving through the shop and casting glances down the aisles for the familiar shape of Charlie's broad figure.
no subject
Frazer-- well-burrowed in the back through a maze of tangled aisles-- hears the bag catch, hears muttering and the steady click of Meera's eager little footsteps. She's done herself the favor of switching Charlie's cell to silent, laying it out behind the cover of her book so the inevitable text won't slip past her watch.
Not that there will be a response, but...
no subject
No sense standing about though. So Meera gravitates naturally in the direction of one of the back corners of the shop, slowly scanning the aisles as she makes her way toward her own territory. She pauses when rounding a corner, spotting the other woman at the end of the aisle, and purposefully busies herself with an arbitrary spot on the nearest shelf. She finds herself picking through some backdated issues of a lit journal she doesn't recognize - dull. Dull enough to take out her phone:
It's a ghost town here. You might actually fit through the aisles now.
no subject
She gives it a good while to let disappointment sink in before glancing up from a section detailing the particular causes of cardiac arrest.
"Looking for someone?"
no subject
Meera looks up when addressed, mouth slightly pursed. She smiles, just marginally embarrassed with herself. Christ, she looks like an idiot. "I'm meeting a friend."
no subject
"You must be early, then." there's a pause as she cranes her neck around to check a few nearby aisles; all show, no purpose. "No one's been in all afternoon."
no subject
"Oh. That's odd." She turns the phone in her hand and then self consciously tucks it back into her purse. "He said he was already here. But that's alright; he must have been caught up by something."
Which isn't something she actually believes and if he texts again she'll make a point of being cross with him, but it's the sort of thing you tell a stranger.