Who: Emma and Isaac When: dinnertime, 5 July Where: a small cafe What: they needed to meet in person to finish their discussion Rating: PG-13 since Em is talking Status: threading
The last thing Emma wanted to do was sit. She wanted to stand up, pace around, bounce a bit, talk... and yet, here she was in the corner booth she'd requested (and had been given a knowing look about that had gone right over her head) for herself and Montague. Instead of pacing, her feet swung, toes scraping back and forth along the floor as they swayed back and forth. She drew patterns on the table with the condensation left by the cool glass of her drink (ice water, not ale; she didn't trust herself to drink right now) and went over the pitch she'd been setting up mentally to give to George when she had a chance. She'd been looking over her notes and thought she might have come up with a possible pet to breed, if he was really interested. She just needed some help getting what was needed for the parents to start breeding for the proper traits and see if they bred true.
She had told the hostess that she was going to be met by a bloke, but she wasn't sure if he'd be on time, since he was coming from Quidditch practice, so just send him on over and could she have a basket of chips to munch while waiting? She didn't see a point in watching while waiting. He'd be here when he got here, and there was little that her anxiety could do to rush things.