(no subject)
[ oom: sparkle and fade ]
Kate gives the wall one last, hopeless look before approaching the bar.
She sets her tote, Bill's keys, the pair of running shoes and the piece of paper in her hands on a stool, then places her palms flat against the counter.
"Bar, I - I need your help. If you could - is there any way you can let the Landlord know I'm here but it's a mistake? I can't - "
She lets out a long, slow breath.
"I really can't be here right now."
A napkin appears.
I can't do that, I'm sorry. That's not how Milliways works.
Her stomach clenches.
"But I - Bar, Bill's hurt, he's in the hospital, and I - "
She bites the inside of her cheek; she's not going to cry. She's not. It won't help anything, not right now.
"Please?"
Another napkin appears; the apology blurs in her vision.
"Okay."
Mouth too dry and features pale, she nods, then swallows.
"I just - I needed to ask."
She sinks onto a stool; a cup of coffee and a note appear, along with two jars of Katherine Barlow's spiced peaches and a basket of warm buttermilk biscuits. (And, [somewhat] inexplicably, a whistle. Any other time, she'd laugh, but she can't manage even a small smile right now.)
She reads the note, blinking hard, then curls her hands around the mug, glancing toward the Front Door. Her door, the door that only leads to L.A. - a universe away from South Carolina and Bill's hospital room.
She's not very hungry at the moment.
[ tiny tags: billy kaplan, boo, the russian astronaut ]
[ ooc: sporadic slowtimes likely, as it's saturday and gorgeous out, but the post is open indefinitely for tags, y'all ]
Kate gives the wall one last, hopeless look before approaching the bar.
She sets her tote, Bill's keys, the pair of running shoes and the piece of paper in her hands on a stool, then places her palms flat against the counter.
"Bar, I - I need your help. If you could - is there any way you can let the Landlord know I'm here but it's a mistake? I can't - "
She lets out a long, slow breath.
"I really can't be here right now."
A napkin appears.
I can't do that, I'm sorry. That's not how Milliways works.
Her stomach clenches.
"But I - Bar, Bill's hurt, he's in the hospital, and I - "
She bites the inside of her cheek; she's not going to cry. She's not. It won't help anything, not right now.
"Please?"
Another napkin appears; the apology blurs in her vision.
"Okay."
Mouth too dry and features pale, she nods, then swallows.
"I just - I needed to ask."
She sinks onto a stool; a cup of coffee and a note appear, along with two jars of Katherine Barlow's spiced peaches and a basket of warm buttermilk biscuits. (And, [somewhat] inexplicably, a whistle. Any other time, she'd laugh, but she can't manage even a small smile right now.)
She reads the note, blinking hard, then curls her hands around the mug, glancing toward the Front Door. Her door, the door that only leads to L.A. - a universe away from South Carolina and Bill's hospital room.
She's not very hungry at the moment.
[ tiny tags: billy kaplan, boo, the russian astronaut ]
[ ooc: sporadic slowtimes likely, as it's saturday and gorgeous out, but the post is open indefinitely for tags, y'all ]