( karen wasn't typically one to fuss over making an impression. he'd already been within her apartment, leaned over one of her dining room chairs as she'd carefully dug that shell from where it'd burrowed itself. even if it hadn't garnered his attention at the time, the place was still in a sort of lived-in disarray, bits and pieces of her things left scattered as if half in thought from when she'd had to walk away. fix a coffee, a drink, sometimes even snatch her keys and tuck up her coat for a walk through the brisk streets.
still, the notion that he's on his way leaves her restless, fingertips finding the clasp at the tight wrap of her skirt, abandoning that half-nursed beer bottle on the coffee table, changing out of her typical work attire into something more comfortable, hair half and lazily pulled up into a loose clip, mostly to keep the strands from falling across her brows, but it leaves golden tendrils amiss.
he's already gotten somewhat of a read on her she's sure, and what sort of journalist would she be having all of her shit together, anyway? she at least tries to tidy up the various folders, articles, photographs scattered across her counters, her table, just about every viable surface to make it all a little more presentable. she should probably be concerned about attorney client privilege being easily violated with all she left out, but he's not coming here to help with a case. he's not coming here on work, for an interview. there's no list of questions she's got thumbed in one of her worn moleskins, there's just the two of them.
two bored people with a free evening.
she even lights a candle, center on the coffee table, lifting up scarves of basil and sage, a hint of vanilla underlying it all before that telltale buzzer sounds. she's close by when that rap sounds, the sound of locks clicking from their place, and when the door opens to him her hair rustles a little, opening it a step or two before she's leaning against it, teeth capturing at her lips to keep them from furling to something full bloom.
head nods to the side, a subtle gesture in invitation. )
no subject
still, the notion that he's on his way leaves her restless, fingertips finding the clasp at the tight wrap of her skirt, abandoning that half-nursed beer bottle on the coffee table, changing out of her typical work attire into something more comfortable, hair half and lazily pulled up into a loose clip, mostly to keep the strands from falling across her brows, but it leaves golden tendrils amiss.
he's already gotten somewhat of a read on her she's sure, and what sort of journalist would she be having all of her shit together, anyway? she at least tries to tidy up the various folders, articles, photographs scattered across her counters, her table, just about every viable surface to make it all a little more presentable. she should probably be concerned about attorney client privilege being easily violated with all she left out, but he's not coming here to help with a case. he's not coming here on work, for an interview. there's no list of questions she's got thumbed in one of her worn moleskins, there's just the two of them.
two bored people with a free evening.
she even lights a candle, center on the coffee table, lifting up scarves of basil and sage, a hint of vanilla underlying it all before that telltale buzzer sounds. she's close by when that rap sounds, the sound of locks clicking from their place, and when the door opens to him her hair rustles a little, opening it a step or two before she's leaning against it, teeth capturing at her lips to keep them from furling to something full bloom.
head nods to the side, a subtle gesture in invitation. )
Glad to see you made it in one piece.