Who: James & Rick. What: A confrontation, James-style. Where: Rick's. When: Just after reading this Warnings: None yet.
Rick's forum post hadn't been particularly distressing, it was, in Rick's own words, frivolous. She tried to decipher it like a code.. but there was nothing there. No clue. Just.. bullshit.
James' pursed her mouth against the rim of some afternoon coffee and leaned back from her Macbook. Rick was obviously alive and well, he had a sense of humor and a beating heart, and he was right down the hall. But he was still ignoring her. Or.. conveniently forgetting to say hi for weeks at a time. She couldn't even remember the last time she'd seen him.. was it the night Ella had gotten hurt? James found it hard to believe that it'd been that long.
At first, it'd been easy to chalk their mutual silence up to too much work, too little time in between. James had thrown herself back into dancing to take up all of the distractions and worries the building provided; sometimes she was at the club six nights a week. But still, no message on the forum? She was also fairly certain he'd evaded her questions, at least once.
But he had time to talk about nothing at all with the rest of the building? She sniffed, and stiffened before resting her coffee mug on the floor. Striding for the front door, she didn't even bother with clothes that might have been appropriate for a walk through the fifth floor hallway. She wore a pinstriped nightshirt, one that she never actually bothered to sleep in. Her apartment door fell shut behind her, but she didn't lock it. She didn't bring her keys, her shoes, or anything but a simmering sense of pride.
If he was ignoring her, he might not even open the door for her. She slapped her palm over the peephole to hinder what it could show, and racketed the door itself with her fist. A trio of rough knocks that sounded a lot more severe than anything that should have been able to come from such soft, sky-eyed packaging.