Room 505, Tuesday Night before Radio
The door wasn't open, but it wasn't locked. Within, there was a Griffin Silver CD playing and a girl putting the finishing touches on roast chicken that she'd carried down from the kitchen, lighting candles just to see how they looked then blowing them out again (wouldn't want anything to catch fire) wandering back and forth from the closet to the bed, red dress half unzipped in back because maybe she should go with the black one instead, fiddling with her hair, checking her watch, and slowly driving herself whackadoo with nerves. You know, the basic ingredients for a romantic evening and attempted Talking About Things TM that you haven't actually mentioned to the other half of it yet.
And then, you know. Checking her watch some more. Because that would make radio happen faster.
[OOC: Open like an open thing if you've got reason to wander by. Somebody needs to help zip her up, after all. As for you, Blondie, Francine was playing music and cleaning the room.]
And then, you know. Checking her watch some more. Because that would make radio happen faster.
[OOC: Open like an open thing if you've got reason to wander by. Somebody needs to help zip her up, after all. As for you, Blondie, Francine was playing music and cleaning the room.]