(no subject)
Immediately after this.
A metallic, sliding panel that one would swear wasn't on the far wall a second ago hisses open. Hiss, swish, swing. And there's a Sariel, lurching over the threshhold as the ship she's just stepped unwittingly off of rocks with the force of some unseen impact. She registers the presence of the bar a second after feet have jarringly met floor and turns around, raising a hand to trigger the door's mechanism and send her back into the bustling chaos of the corridor she's just left.
Nothing doing.
What a time for the door to stay where it is, but not respond. Sometimes the powers that be have a pretty good idea of when someone needs a minute. But all the same...
"bugger it! I have to get back there! We're being board... your sense of timing is atrocious, you know!"
Who's to say who that's directed at; the landlord? Bar? someone else? Either way, she subsides after a second and flops into the nearest chair, momentarily defeated. She looks a little the worse for wear, when all's said and done; her hair's tousled worse than it's curly usual, both boots are only clumsily laced, and the observant might spot tear tracks on dark cheeks and more of the same clinging to lashes--clinging, but not falling. Never mind the occasional sniff.
It's not been a good day over all, looks like.
A metallic, sliding panel that one would swear wasn't on the far wall a second ago hisses open. Hiss, swish, swing. And there's a Sariel, lurching over the threshhold as the ship she's just stepped unwittingly off of rocks with the force of some unseen impact. She registers the presence of the bar a second after feet have jarringly met floor and turns around, raising a hand to trigger the door's mechanism and send her back into the bustling chaos of the corridor she's just left.
Nothing doing.
What a time for the door to stay where it is, but not respond. Sometimes the powers that be have a pretty good idea of when someone needs a minute. But all the same...
"bugger it! I have to get back there! We're being board... your sense of timing is atrocious, you know!"
Who's to say who that's directed at; the landlord? Bar? someone else? Either way, she subsides after a second and flops into the nearest chair, momentarily defeated. She looks a little the worse for wear, when all's said and done; her hair's tousled worse than it's curly usual, both boots are only clumsily laced, and the observant might spot tear tracks on dark cheeks and more of the same clinging to lashes--clinging, but not falling. Never mind the occasional sniff.
It's not been a good day over all, looks like.