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[25 Mar 2010|12:37am] |
TO: Lillian Poole
Guess whaaaaaaaat?
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| HOLO-CALL. |
[25 Mar 2010|07:31pm] |
WHO: Eli Blake & Lindsay van der Jagt.
WHAT: The barista finally calls the cute older brunette after she gave him her number -- just a week late, and oblivious to the recent public hooplah.
WHEN: Tonight!
WHERE: His & her place, respectively.
It had only occurred to him afterwards, after a few days of debating whether or not to call her: he'd lost the phone number. He knew the number was here somewhere, buried in the cavernous depths of paper and discarded packaging and cables and empty boxes strewn about the floor. Theirs was a small apartment, after all -- when he took home the number of a hot customer, he should know where that crumpled piece of card ended up, goddamnit.
And Mallory could probably find the scrap of paper inside of ten minutes, but he couldn't exactly ask for her help in locating it. Eli was, lamentably, on his own.
It was only after overturning an empty camera box (a small sheaf of printouts slid out of it, along with the number) that he recognised the telltale scrawl, which was neither his nor Mal's. Eli's heart juddered with relief. Thank god -- he hadn't lost it. If he'd misplaced it, he would never let himself live it down. And as he emerged from the computer room, Eli swore (for the nth time) that he'd have to clean up this place. Prevent further accidents like this from occurring, &c.
Slumping himself on the battered sofa in the living room and dialling the handwritten number, he didn't notice -- until it was too late -- that he still had the holo-setting turned on.
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