Dr. Archer | The Invisible Man (sneakingaround) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-05-12 20:15:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | invisible man, rapunzel |
Who: Isobel and Archer
What: Dinner
Where: 906
When: 8:00 sharp
Warnings: Awkwardness and confusion
She had told him not to be late, and so he left his apartment at 7:50. He remembered to wear a watch, a digital one because that was far more accurate than analog. Though Isobel claimed to be respecting the time needed to perform his studies, Archer knew that she couldn't have been that naive. He got a bit done, but spent an inordinate amount of time flitting from his work bench to his bathroom to ensure that his hair was still brown and short and the same as it had always been.
At seven o'clock, he abandoned his work entirely and began looking at his closet. Archer had never been one for fashion. He didn't like to dress for the sake of looking nice - clothing was to be functional, nothing more. So he didn't have much in the way of fashionable attire. He had formal clothing for presentations and class, and old clothing for the laboratory. But what to wear in a situation that was a mixture between the two?
First, he tried formal slacks and an informal shirt. The long-sleeved hand-me-down from his older brother was dotted with holes in the wrists from acid spills and general mishaps. It wasn't the sort of thing he would wear in front of company, especially not Isobel. So he tried all formal attire, with a pair of nice slacks and a button-down shirt. He quite liked it, but realized that he looked like a plastic figurine instead of a human being. So he paired the shirt with a pair of worn denim trousers. It made him look slightly more like the average people he passed on the street. He supposed that in this situation, that was a good thing.
After washing his glasses several times and continuing to fuss with his hair - he had never thought that appearance would be such a concern before - he slipped his watch onto his bony wrist and left his apartment. The climb was long, and the very out-of-shape researcher was very out of breath by the time he reached the ninth floor. His transparently pale skin was flushed red with effort as he leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths and pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. Beads of sweat were collecting there, and he could feel his jagged ribs expanding and contracting at an alarming rate.
He waited outside, trying to calm himself and watching his watch with fascination. Should he knock at 7:57? Or perhaps 7:58? Would early be a bad choice? She told him not to dare be late, so would it be best to knock at 8:00 on the dot? He was going to wait for the exact hour, but when 7:59 came about, he couldn't wait.
Taking a sharp breath, he straightened up and rapped smartly on the door of apartment 906.