Jun 18, 2025 3:03 am
(OOC: For Furmyr) There goes his hand again . . . .
You watch tiredly as the young drunk on the other side of the pulsing dance floor at the bar puts a hand lightly on the ass of the equally young woman sitting next to him.
And there goes her hand again . . . brushing her ass as if brushing cobwebs, moving the male digits away.
For the third time in about twenty minutes . . . .
"Hey. You OK?" a voice shouts over the throbbing din.
Since the voice came from down near your mid-chest, you figure it's Joanna. Sure enough, when you glance down from the happy couple across the way, you see the blonde little waitress with the thin face and chest, looking up at you with some concern.
(OOC: For Kaneda) The banker's handshake is firm, dry, and clean (prompting some slight anxiety to flare about how well you washed this morning at Piotr's).
"A pleasure doing business with you, Sir," he says as he spins the tablet back away from you to his side of the desk and glances down at your e-signature (is that really fondness in his eyes??). His dark, almost Kalmyk, eyes come back to you, not showing pleasure at all.
"In keeping with your former creditors' arrangements, your next payment will be due at the end of the month."
The eyes now turn to the plate-glass door in the plate-glass wall, and an expensively clothed arm gestures at the heavy in the good suit standing watch. Muscles buzzes open the door and holds it as the banker escorts you past it and down the carpeted hall, passing by all the glass on your left (behind three of which are other bankers, no doubt with their own handshakes and eyes, and people like yourself, some dressed very well, some not so well), heading for the big chrome doors of the elevators at the far end.
Right near the elevator bank, the last office is actually loud.
A rather nervous-looking, weedy fellow (probably some kind of academic) is gabbling something muffled by the glass, hands jerking, face shining. The woman sitting back in her chair across from him merely watches with the cool interest one has when observing insects.
There is a muffled thud as the man slaps his hand on the desk, teeth clenched in a rictus.
You hear quick footsteps behind you . . . .
You watch tiredly as the young drunk on the other side of the pulsing dance floor at the bar puts a hand lightly on the ass of the equally young woman sitting next to him.
And there goes her hand again . . . brushing her ass as if brushing cobwebs, moving the male digits away.
For the third time in about twenty minutes . . . .
"Hey. You OK?" a voice shouts over the throbbing din.
Since the voice came from down near your mid-chest, you figure it's Joanna. Sure enough, when you glance down from the happy couple across the way, you see the blonde little waitress with the thin face and chest, looking up at you with some concern.
(OOC: For Kaneda) The banker's handshake is firm, dry, and clean (prompting some slight anxiety to flare about how well you washed this morning at Piotr's).
"A pleasure doing business with you, Sir," he says as he spins the tablet back away from you to his side of the desk and glances down at your e-signature (is that really fondness in his eyes??). His dark, almost Kalmyk, eyes come back to you, not showing pleasure at all.
"In keeping with your former creditors' arrangements, your next payment will be due at the end of the month."
The eyes now turn to the plate-glass door in the plate-glass wall, and an expensively clothed arm gestures at the heavy in the good suit standing watch. Muscles buzzes open the door and holds it as the banker escorts you past it and down the carpeted hall, passing by all the glass on your left (behind three of which are other bankers, no doubt with their own handshakes and eyes, and people like yourself, some dressed very well, some not so well), heading for the big chrome doors of the elevators at the far end.
Right near the elevator bank, the last office is actually loud.
A rather nervous-looking, weedy fellow (probably some kind of academic) is gabbling something muffled by the glass, hands jerking, face shining. The woman sitting back in her chair across from him merely watches with the cool interest one has when observing insects.
There is a muffled thud as the man slaps his hand on the desk, teeth clenched in a rictus.
You hear quick footsteps behind you . . . .
