An encounter in the Sitting Room... Mar 3, 2016 15:42:23 GMT -5
Post by W.R. Lawrence on Mar 3, 2016 15:42:23 GMT -5
As would happen from time to time, she finds herself in a familiar neighbourhood, and indeed spies the door she's been wondering about. A spell has passed since her last forey into the Sitting Room. Times being what they are, completing ever more interesting tasks for her employer, have removed what little time she once had. "A tea and a book today", she thinks, as she enters the Sitting Room. Removing her signature blue/grey overcoat, she reveals a smart black power suit, accented with a jaunty red throat scarf, matching her handbag and mile-high red pumps. The ensemble is well put together, though if you look closely, her blue/grey eyes reveal the ware the heels are taking on her feet, and the tasks of the past week on her soul. "A tea and a book", she says out loud to herself. Entering the Sitting Room, she saunters over to Bernard at the bar, gives a subtle nod of her head, and a coy smile to the friendly barkeep, and asks for chamomile tea, a chocolate and pear tart and then turns to the room. The last time she was here, there was a lovely, tall wing-backed chair in a most alluring blue and gold pattern with matching ottoman. Spying it, blessedly vacant, and thanking her good fortune that a lovely afghan throw was left draped haphazardly over an arm, she purposefully walks to the chair, grabs the afghan and flounces down, placing her overcoat of the arm once occupied by the afghan. Closing her eyes at the pure joy of a comfortable chair, she rests her head on the left wing, lifting her shapely legs onto the ottoman, careful not to remove her shoes. For those 4-inch Lady Killer Red heels of hers, once removed, will not return to the weary feet within. Tossing the throw over her legs to cut the chill from a lovely, yet weathered window nearby. Bernard, after properly warming the tea pot, and cup, bring over her order and set it on a mahogany side table positioned for just such a purpose to the right of the chair. She sighs a little, as she simply allows herself to indulge in the comfort of the chair, perilously oblivious (for the moment) to any other patron in the room. A rare moment of relaxation for her.