Nov 24, 2009 22:38
X slips in through the back door, fresh from a workout. She heads upstairs for fifteen minutes, returning in a clean set of clothes (a pink T-shirt and gray track pants) and with her still-damp hair twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck.
Bar provides pancakes and eggs when a meal is requested, and X does not object. She does, however, insist on milk over orange juice. Five minutes after that fight is started, X heads over to her usual table, setting down her plates and tucking in.
She'll put on her Security badge a few moments after she's finished eating. X has timing down to a science.
It's a learned skill.
x-23,
lan mandragoran,
meg ford