( Woken from a dead sleep, Leonard hurries to join the clump of neighbors on the sidewalk, watching the scene unfolding at the Myrsdin's. Instinct would have him push past them and make his way to the distressed woman, but the arriving police keep him rooted, restless and uneasy to be a gawking spectator to someone else's pain.
Seeing a friend, he draws near, wrapping his flannel bathrobe more snugly around himself against the nip in the air. )
You alright? What happened?
II. On Days Like These
I don't like it. It's unnatural.
( He's been unhappily muttering into his sweet tea for the past few minutes, occasionally lifting his gaze to something over his companion's shoulder, only to quickly look back into his drink.
Leonard had passed the...the figure, the statue, the Damn Well Not A Person when he'd gone to the restroom in this little restaurant, squeezing by her table in the back corner. He hadn't registered her at first, too preoccupied, but he sensed eyes on him when he emerged afterward, a sensation that made the hair on the back of his neck stand right up.
She – It – was looking at him.
But it couldn't be. Its head was turned away, as if it were gazing at something interesting behind the lunch counter, and all he could see was its face in profile, the eye he expected to find focused on him instead hidden by a fallen blonde curl. One hand rested loosely on the table, the nails polished a pale pink to match its dress, unassuming and delicate. The longer he stared – because he was staring, past the point of rudeness, drawing closer all the while to study this strange anomalous thing – the more odd he felt, a lurching sensation, until he was close enough to reach out and brush aside the lock of hair.
--
He had returned to his seat, paper white, asked for their check and muttered and fiddled only with his glass of tea thereafter. The figure has done nothing in the meantime, sitting silent and motionless in the same spot, and where is their waitress, exactly, how long does it take to tally a couple sandwiches and soups and it hasn't moved but it's still looking at him—)
The Hell with this.
( Wallet out, Leonard counts out more than enough currency to cover their meal, drops it beside his plate, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to get going. Ouch, but also hurry the Hell up, friend, because he's starting to panic, and will (un)happily drag you along with him. )
OPEN
I. Midnight Shift
( Woken from a dead sleep, Leonard hurries to join the clump of neighbors on the sidewalk, watching the scene unfolding at the Myrsdin's. Instinct would have him push past them and make his way to the distressed woman, but the arriving police keep him rooted, restless and uneasy to be a gawking spectator to someone else's pain.
Seeing a friend, he draws near, wrapping his flannel bathrobe more snugly around himself against the nip in the air. )
You alright? What happened?
II. On Days Like These
I don't like it. It's unnatural.
( He's been unhappily muttering into his sweet tea for the past few minutes, occasionally lifting his gaze to something over his companion's shoulder, only to quickly look back into his drink.
Leonard had passed the...the figure, the statue, the Damn Well Not A Person when he'd gone to the restroom in this little restaurant, squeezing by her table in the back corner. He hadn't registered her at first, too preoccupied, but he sensed eyes on him when he emerged afterward, a sensation that made the hair on the back of his neck stand right up.
She – It – was looking at him.
But it couldn't be. Its head was turned away, as if it were gazing at something interesting behind the lunch counter, and all he could see was its face in profile, the eye he expected to find focused on him instead hidden by a fallen blonde curl. One hand rested loosely on the table, the nails polished a pale pink to match its dress, unassuming and delicate. The longer he stared – because he was staring, past the point of rudeness, drawing closer all the while to study this strange anomalous thing – the more odd he felt, a lurching sensation, until he was close enough to reach out and brush aside the lock of hair.
--
He had returned to his seat, paper white, asked for their check and muttered and fiddled only with his glass of tea thereafter. The figure has done nothing in the meantime, sitting silent and motionless in the same spot, and where is their waitress, exactly, how long does it take to tally a couple sandwiches and soups and it hasn't moved but it's still looking at him— )
The Hell with this.
( Wallet out, Leonard counts out more than enough currency to cover their meal, drops it beside his plate, and bangs his knee on the underside of the table in his haste to get going. Ouch, but also hurry the Hell up, friend, because he's starting to panic, and will (un)happily drag you along with him. )