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justdidntseeit November 11 2009, 07:42:26 UTC
"No, just e-mail it, I can -- "

The well-dressed blonde stops talking once she realizes where she's stepped into, and why her cell signal just winked out.

Deciding Warner International's latest expense reports can wait at least a few minutes, she heads for the counter; she skipped lunch, and one of Bar's smoothies sounds phenomenal.

When she spots a familiar face -- one she hasn't seen in more than a year -- she forgets about the smoothie entirely.

Softly, "Jack?"

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longestofmylife November 11 2009, 07:46:01 UTC
One hand seems permanently affixed to the half-empty glass in front of him.

He's eyeing the small gold band on the ring finger of the other when someone addresses him.

(He downs the rest of the glass first.)

"I'm sorry. Do I know you?"

His voice is raspy, grating. Like sandpaper. Like he hasn't used it in a while.

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justdidntseeit November 11 2009, 07:52:26 UTC
"You -- "

He's so worn -- it's like he's just pulled a 20-hour day arguing tactics from the field with Chappelle smarming in an earpiece.

Her eyes fall to the dull flash of gold on his left hand; something in her stomach tightens.

You do. Just not yet.

"Mind if I have a seat?"

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longestofmylife November 11 2009, 15:34:48 UTC
He's distracted, for the moment, getting Bar to refill his glass.

(It's getting harder and harder to convince her.)

"It's a free country," he mutters, then nearly laughs at the thought.

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