Slinging the carefully not wrinkled cleaning over one arm, Mildmay pressed the doorbell-looking button he assumed would grant him access. Checking the address again against Felix's perfectly scribed handwriting, his remedy for illiteracy, Mildmay ceded that he was, in fact, in the correct place.
With a bunch of laundry.
That smelled remarkably like lilacs.
He tried, and managed, not to fidget, not wanting to leave a bad impression. He really wanted this job, though. His other (prospective) job was only nights. And, to be honest, the more he was out of the house, the better. Though from what he could tell, his two jobs were located remarkably far apart.
And remarkably far from his apartment.
He was a fit man -- impeccably so, it was how he'd stayed alive so long -- but there were limits. Especially in time constraints. And this might just be that limit.
Dane glanced up at the screen as the doorbell sounded, reaching out to adjust the positioning of the monitor as he took a moment to observe his visitor. The drycleaning was a telltale sign of who it was, but Damien always liked to get the measure of a man before all else.
The long minute of silence was probably awkward enough for the party standing outside the door, but at last there was a slight buzz as the locks within the door released and the metal slid aside to admit him. Once the security door was bypassed, the entryway was strangely like some sort of Victorian garden, with vines of some sort of ivy crawling up lattice that surrounded the entryway on all sides. The door at the end of the dim passageway was a quaint, wooden piece, styled to center around an oblong piece of stained glass in its center. The variety of colored glass created a rather intricate rose, illuminated from behind by some kind of violet light.
Applauding himself for showing no outward sign of how much the door opening had scared the piss out of him, Mildmay entered the shop. He kept the dry cleaning nicely folded over one arm, and walked towards where he heard, and sensed, the only other movement in the shop. Years of instincts and training led him nicely into Dane's presence, and he held out the dry cleaning
( ... )
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With a bunch of laundry.
That smelled remarkably like lilacs.
He tried, and managed, not to fidget, not wanting to leave a bad impression. He really wanted this job, though. His other (prospective) job was only nights. And, to be honest, the more he was out of the house, the better. Though from what he could tell, his two jobs were located remarkably far apart.
And remarkably far from his apartment.
He was a fit man -- impeccably so, it was how he'd stayed alive so long -- but there were limits. Especially in time constraints. And this might just be that limit.
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The long minute of silence was probably awkward enough for the party standing outside the door, but at last there was a slight buzz as the locks within the door released and the metal slid aside to admit him. Once the security door was bypassed, the entryway was strangely like some sort of Victorian garden, with vines of some sort of ivy crawling up lattice that surrounded the entryway on all sides. The door at the end of the dim passageway was a quaint, wooden piece, styled to center around an oblong piece of stained glass in its center. The variety of colored glass created a rather intricate rose, illuminated from behind by some kind of violet light.
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