Fandom Post Office, September 22 (Tuesday)
There was a tumbleweed in the post office lobby this morning; it had just rolled in on a little gust of wind, then slowed to a halt a few feet inside the door.
Éponine stared at it.
It didn't stare back, luckily.
She kept looking at it, expectantly, tapping her fingertips on the countertop in an exaggerated show of impatience, but it just kept sitting there. This wasn't really a surprise, and she hadn't really been hoping for results, but having a pointless staring contest with a tumbleweed seemed like as good a way to pass the time as anything.
Today was a slow mail day.
Finally, Éponine shrugged, went over to pick up the tumbleweed, and pulled out the envelope it had been carrying. "How d'you like that, someone actually used this rate. Silly of them, really, it takes weeks and even if it's got tracking numbers following them only makes people mad . . ."
See, slow mail day.
[OOC: OCD-free and open.]
Éponine stared at it.
It didn't stare back, luckily.
She kept looking at it, expectantly, tapping her fingertips on the countertop in an exaggerated show of impatience, but it just kept sitting there. This wasn't really a surprise, and she hadn't really been hoping for results, but having a pointless staring contest with a tumbleweed seemed like as good a way to pass the time as anything.
Today was a slow mail day.
Finally, Éponine shrugged, went over to pick up the tumbleweed, and pulled out the envelope it had been carrying. "How d'you like that, someone actually used this rate. Silly of them, really, it takes weeks and even if it's got tracking numbers following them only makes people mad . . ."
See, slow mail day.
[OOC: OCD-free and open.]