Re: Janus A/Eames: the 'Stop
The Bus Stop was, of course, closed. And Janus was not on his feet, so none of the doors were open. They were two three sets of doors into the Stop: the double doors for the front that both pulled open, currently locked by the old style L latches that sunk into the ground and the top of the door frame; a single backdoor with a little twist lock in the door knob; and the hole for the post-construction HVAC added in the '80s. Distracted by pain among other things, Janus had not bothered to try to solve this problem for Eames. Eames was an enterprising fellow. A couple twenty year old locks wasn't going to stop him, surely.
Inside, at the back of the Stop where the employee break room, office and shower had been remade into a sort of apartment, Janus could be heard talking to someone. "Not interested," he said. There was no audible reply, and the room was otherwise empty when Eames eventually (we have no doubt) made his entrance.
Janus was on the cot, lying on one side, where he'd been since Atticus departed. There was a good stain and smear of blood behind the front counter's ticket window, and the back room had a slight salty metallic smell of dried blood too. He was wearing the same clothes from the bookstore, though they were smeared with blood and smoke from burnt books. Between the state of him and the natural shape of the weakest form he had, it was not pretty.
Janus tipped his head from one interior elbow to look at the doorframe. He paused between words so he didn't inhale too deeply to make them. "Where's... my mocha?"