( Hyaaahhh it's Paris and it's 1993! SHE FEELS SO OUT OF PLACE and my god there are some really eighties haircuts going on.
Just saying. She's keeping her hands in her pockets because she is, well. It's 1993. And she likes to hold hands but can't go freaking out Em when it's 1993 in Paris.
( No no! No need to apologise. She understands Em's hesitations more, by now, even if she isn't thrilled by them, and she gets the necessary revision to behaviour being in that time. It's just difficult when she enjoys physical contact so very much. )
Mmm. It was really nice being back home for a little bit. ( And she'll step out in front of Em, turning so that she is walking backwards, facing Em as they talk. ) Anywhere you'd like to go, or just... wandering?
[ Tipping back in her desk chair in her shop. Her default expression is one of sheer boredom as she flicks through another magazine full of clothes she wants but could never afford. The shop is musty, full of antiques and rather dark, even though there's sunlight pouring in through the (admittedly small) windows. ]
[a very unremarkable-looking man in his early thirties had entered the little antiques shop about five minutes ago and since then has been poking around the more exotic items in a dusty corner of the shop. He's been there for quite some time now and eventually he even goes so far as to sit on the floor as he examines a particularly decrepit-looking book]
[and then he does something HEINOUS. With his eyes still firmly trained on the dusty pages of the book as it sits splayed in his lap he reaches in to his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it deftly with one hand, seemingly oblivious to the gross breach of etiquette (and the law).]
[ Mally really didn't care about the random bloke in her shop, at first. He could poke around as long as he wanted, and she still wouldn't give a damn.
[it's some kind of underground tunnel - dark, cold and with the frigid smell of wet rocks and algae. Somewhere in the distance there's the sound of running water echoing its way along the tunnel. Gideon has no idea how he got here - or even where 'here' is - but being underground again is familiar enough to feel oddly soothing. With his torch in one hand he leans against the rough-hewn rock of the tunnel wall to breathe in the cold, damp smell and wonder which direction he should try first]
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UWAH! Finally! It's Paris! And also 1993! It's so amazing and lovely and homey. Kya!
HAPPILY STROLLING IN THE STREETS OF PARIS! WOULD SKIP IF SHE WASN'T SO CALM AND COLLECTED!! ]
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Just saying. She's keeping her hands in her pockets because she is, well. It's 1993. And she likes to hold hands but can't go freaking out Em when it's 1993 in Paris.
So.
She just.
Won't. ) Is it a relief to be home?
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I wouldn't use the word relief, but I did miss it.
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Mmm. It was really nice being back home for a little bit. ( And she'll step out in front of Em, turning so that she is walking backwards, facing Em as they talk. ) Anywhere you'd like to go, or just... wandering?
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[and then he does something HEINOUS. With his eyes still firmly trained on the dusty pages of the book as it sits splayed in his lap he reaches in to his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. He lights it deftly with one hand, seemingly oblivious to the gross breach of etiquette (and the law).]
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And then he lit the cigarette. ]
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Excuse me, do you have a death wish? Or are you just really, really thick?
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