Ada's coat was removed with the brisk, impeccable professionalism of a man who was trained in how to aid a woman without violating the intricate laws of her personal space, whisking the thing away and hanging it on the coat rack with nary a wrinkle. "Please, by all means!" was his answer to her question as he rounded the corner. Like a small whirlwind, he took up a saucer and a fresh cup and poured tea into it, the brown liquid dashing out of the kettle and hissing against the white porcelain.
"Cream or sugar?" Charlie indicated the little tray of white cubes, all oddly stacked into the container as if he'd set them that way one by one. Somehow it wouldn't be a stretch to see the bustling little man spending time daintily placing each sugar cube with the tongs.
"Theater, you say? How delightful! I think I know the shop you're speaking of. The work there is simply genius!" the barber said enthusiastically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling in deference. "What I would give to work with the theater some season... but ah me, my clientele would be just fuming if I were to abandon them. Do tell, do you like the theater? Or is the relation to shop on Shaftesbury simply incidental?" He was trying to discreetly figure out this case of Miss Moncrief with the embarrassing hair and why it might be so. It wasn't unheard of for actresses to give everything they've got to their roles. Or perhaps it was something more domestic... a fight with a husband that ended in a tragic attack with scissors upon an unsuspecting coiffure?