There's an older gentleman across the room making a great effort not to look in Shelley's direction. He's almost gone so far past not looking that even when he does look, he doesn't actually see. Just a slowly disappearing greek salad with accompanying olive pile.
Shelley isn't really looking at anyone in particular.
But then, she isn't not looking either, so her attention is drawn again and again to the man just over there. He really does seem familiar... now, where from...
She'll remember it's rude to stare in just a minute. Honest.
It is not fair to say that Shelley is the last person that he wanted to see at this moment. There were at least a dozen other people who passed her on that list. But he wasn't exactly rushing off to find her, either.
Ford never did learn how to make himself invisible. It was always on his list of things to do, but as that list tended repeatedly to be hastily scribbled on the backs of cocktail napkins while roaringly drunk, they also tended to be unreadable the following morning, and were therefore thrown out.
As such, no matter how much he concentrates upon realizing he's been stared at, he stays frustratingly visible.
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"Oh- no!"
She deposits the last olive and slides the plate over with an amiable smile, gruffness rolling off her back like water, were she a duck.
"Don't like them much. You do, I suppose?"
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"Glad you do. Someone has to like them, to make up for the people who don't, like me. If there was not, what would be the point?"
She contemplates this grave possibility for a moment.
"Maybe they just wouldn't exist. No one would pick them."
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But then, she isn't not looking either, so her attention is drawn again and again to the man just over there. He really does seem familiar... now, where from...
She'll remember it's rude to stare in just a minute. Honest.
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Ford never did learn how to make himself invisible. It was always on his list of things to do, but as that list tended repeatedly to be hastily scribbled on the backs of cocktail napkins while roaringly drunk, they also tended to be unreadable the following morning, and were therefore thrown out.
As such, no matter how much he concentrates upon realizing he's been stared at, he stays frustratingly visible.
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But it is rude to stare, she suddenly realises, turning her attention back to her tea.
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She glances at her, "Bar wouldn't make you one without olives?"
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"Seemed a waste to scrap the whole thing. 'Lo, Kim."
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Her salad appears and she forks on some dressing.
"Can I steal an olive?"
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She pokes the saucer over a little. "How've you been?"
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