Re: Bus station: Atticus & Janus
Atticus wore his stubble as he always did. It, along with his smudged glasses, was a perpetual sign of his utter laziness. Said glasses stayed in his pocket as he located the counter, and he walked toward it slowly. His feet scuffed the old floor, as if lifting them completely off the ground with each step was decidedly too much work, and Atticus stopped in front of Janus and regarded him in silence.
Could have greeted Janus first, but Atticus liked waiting. It took the pressure off him to determine the tone of the conversation, sure. But, too, he was just patient enough to wait and look and listen. He noted the old music, which he approved of, even if he preferred a few decades more modern. Janus' attire was noted with lazy attention of sweeping hazel eyes. Atticus rocked slowly from heel to toe, and he tugged his headphones past messy curls. The plastic band rested against his nape, and music still played through the foam headphones. Atticus didn't notice the music once it wasn't immediately against his ears, and he forgot to turn off the Walkman.
Atticus looked around the station, the movement of his neck sending chill-cold and Marlboro Reds in Janus' direction, and then he turned back slowly. His smile was the kind of thing one expected to find on a fond uncle, save for the corner tipped up almost unnoticeable in imitation of a smirk. "Could stick you and this place in Disneyland. Walt would be proud." He paused, either for dramatic emphasis, or simply out of lazy speech. "Your blonde might need some work fitting in. Get the feeling she's not the vintage type." Michael, he knew, believed Janus and the blonde that spent time in Janus' rooms were different people. Atticus was lazy, but he wasn't blind. Knew better.