Psyche (pilgrimheart) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2008-07-28 18:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | anteros, eros, psyche |
Who: Psyche, Anteros, and Eros
When: Monday afternoon
Where: Il Mulino, Italian restaurant in Greenwich Village
Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven. Twenty-six.
Psyche watched the numbers lighting up, counting along with them silently, willing them to descend downward faster. She wasn't in a rush, exactly - she didn't mind waiting in the foyer for the elevator, watching everyone else who shared the same lovely, intimidating office building. Watching others was one of the things she enjoyed most. She made up little stories in her mind as she watched them pass. The man in the brown suit, the one who had walked this way three times now - he was expecting an important phone call. A very important phone call. Maybe from someone he hadn't heard from in a long time.
Twelve. Eleven. Ten.
She couldn't help but smile as she saw him pass yet again, this time with his cell phone.
Seven. Six. Five.
Despite herself, she found herself pulling out her own phone and checking the time. She wouldn't be late, not yet, not if this elevator ever decided to arrive...
Four.
Finally, she thought with a sigh of relief, easing her way into the already crowded elevator. It seemed everyone went to lunch at the same time, which made her glad they'd already had reservations. Besides, his office was much closer, so he should already be there by now. She considered sending him a quick text, her eyes darting up to the illuminated numbers again, as she tried to calculate exactly how much time this elevator would end up costing her. Only when she did, there was another pair of eyes fixed on hers. A pair she knew very, very well. A pair that would have startled her before, but only made her feel a strange mixture of curiosity and wonder - and oh, was that just a touch of indignance?
She lowered her eyes, not raising them again until the doors opened on the first floor. Pausing in her progress, she glanced over her shoulder, her eyebrows raised slightly in an unspoken question. She waited until he drew closer, her voice low enough to avoid attracting attention, but still audible enough for him to notice.
"I'd ask you if you're lost, but something tells me that isn't why you're here."