Oh, that old place. [Here's the hoping the floors have gotten less sticky.] Fine. Six o'clock.
[And so, at ten past six, a narrow and exceptionally dark eyed youth appears out of the surrounding interlocked public houses surrounding the Bad Actor. Somehow - whether it's good instincts or the fact that he'd spent the last ten minutes perched on a rooftop in the guise of an especially tatty looking cat watching to be sure he knew who he was looking for - he wings his way deftly up the street and directly to--
Well. He never did actually get her name, now did he?]
[ She's emerged from within: Swanned into the alley and around a puddle with the wide-eyed luck of the empty-headed. A spotty man trails behind, tugged at the end of a wrist. The handsomeness of his cloak does little to shape a perilously young face — this encounter must be somewhere between cradle robbery, and the real thing. ]
Monsieur, you must see reason, I am waiting for a friend,
[ She laughs as though that's any sort of joke; fingers grazing pockets to bat his own hand. A glance over her shoulder finds Bartimaeus, narrows a moment only before sparking into feigned recognition: if he kept walking, she'd like as not have this conversation with a stranger.]
And here upon cue, [ A spin to disentangle, to present Bartimaeus with a hand (to vanish a roll of parchment into skirt). A pout: ] You have left me quite late, you know.
[Let's be honest: this isn't the first time he's been in this position. If there's any hesitation to be found in the dark eyed youth, it's so brief as to be invisible.]
Chin up, blondie. [In all the tones of 'I've definitely called her this nickname more times than I can count, no really, I swear.'] I'm here now, aren't I? Not that it's stopped you from trying to replace me.
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[And so, at ten past six, a narrow and exceptionally dark eyed youth appears out of the surrounding interlocked public houses surrounding the Bad Actor. Somehow - whether it's good instincts or the fact that he'd spent the last ten minutes perched on a rooftop in the guise of an especially tatty looking cat watching to be sure he knew who he was looking for - he wings his way deftly up the street and directly to--
Well. He never did actually get her name, now did he?]
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Monsieur, you must see reason, I am waiting for a friend,
[ She laughs as though that's any sort of joke; fingers grazing pockets to bat his own hand. A glance over her shoulder finds Bartimaeus, narrows a moment only before sparking into feigned recognition: if he kept walking, she'd like as not have this conversation with a stranger.]
And here upon cue, [ A spin to disentangle, to present Bartimaeus with a hand (to vanish a roll of parchment into skirt). A pout: ] You have left me quite late, you know.
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Chin up, blondie. [In all the tones of 'I've definitely called her this nickname more times than I can count, no really, I swear.'] I'm here now, aren't I? Not that it's stopped you from trying to replace me.