Office Hours; Office #5. Monday [ 09/27 ].
Kūkaku Shiba was in her office and nothing was blowing up. Alert the presses.
Of course, there was a nice cloud of smoke hanging up toward the ceiling, as concentration seemed to call for a great use of her tobacco. She'd forsaken the desk and was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled comfortably. The script from the play was in her hand, held expertly as she read through it, chewing on the end of her pipe. Occasionally, inspired, she plop the script down between her legs, curl over it, and scribble some hasty notes. It was slowly being filled with thoughts and ideas and lots of scribbly diagrams of her vision of enhancing the thing with her pyrotechnics.
She was almost running out of room.
[[ door and post are open! ]]
Of course, there was a nice cloud of smoke hanging up toward the ceiling, as concentration seemed to call for a great use of her tobacco. She'd forsaken the desk and was sitting on the floor, legs sprawled comfortably. The script from the play was in her hand, held expertly as she read through it, chewing on the end of her pipe. Occasionally, inspired, she plop the script down between her legs, curl over it, and scribble some hasty notes. It was slowly being filled with thoughts and ideas and lots of scribbly diagrams of her vision of enhancing the thing with her pyrotechnics.
She was almost running out of room.
[[ door and post are open! ]]