The Arms Hotel, Rm 410, Wednesday evening

[george_m_bluth]

 George Michael was flipping through the channels on the TV, trying really just to find something that was more or less background noise. He was too nervous to concentrate on watching anything right now and he paced back and forth, biting his nail occassionally and glancing at the clock.

[ooc: expecting a certain lady friend in a tidy French Maid

Comments

[montecito_east]

Mary knocked on the door, feather duster and a small bag in hand. "Housekeeping! I'm here for your turndown service, Monsieur."

[george_m_bluth]

George Michael set down the remote and walked to the door, running his hands back through his hair. Opening it, he smiled. "Hi, yes, thank you." He moved aside to let her in.

[montecito_east]

Mary gave him a big smile as she walked in and set down her bag. She crossed the room and started to shut the drapes. "Is your room comfortable, Monsieur?" she asked.

[george_m_bluth]

"It's very comfortable, thank you," he said as he moved to sit down in a rather large armchair. His eyes never left her.