[ Long jobs like these are no fun. The research involved is thorough and, as anyone who has spent enough time in a small town will tell you, people are not keen on answers nor help. It's safest to keep them in the dark, Elsa has found, so so busies herself with investigating as discreetly as she can. It's fine, she doesn't enjoy small talk much.
The day seems to fly by between pouring over the town's historical archives at the library and observing the church at a distance from the coffee shop to see if there is anyone noteworthy who might be coming and going. There has been days of this, but today feels different. Today she can look forward to seeing someone, maybe even chatting in a setting that doesn't found like pulling teeth.
She returns to her hotel to change for the evening finding herself switching between jackets maybe one too many times before leaving the room with a quick fuck it chiding herself for being so fussy. She's been to this restaurant before, even, and yet when she pulls up in her rental vehicle and sees the salt-and-pepper-haired man on the bench waiting for her, Elsa's stomach does actual flips.
This feels so childish. He's got a keen sense of smell, no doubt, and has sensed her by now: no sense in dragging this out. Heaving in a deep breath and closing her eyes, she steps out of the vehicle and closes the door with a lingering touch: she may as well be stepping into space rather than a vehicle with these nerves.
The closer she gets the more the stomach turns seem to stop. Hands stuffed in her coat pockets and shoulders high she approaches the bench. This is the cold nature she is notorious for, the attitude that takes a moment to defrost: Bloodstones aren't a friendly people. ]
Hello.
[ That's what people say to each other for pleasantries, right? It feels a little off, maybe colder than she intends. Raising a hand to just below ear level Elsa offers something close to a wave. ]
Glad you're not dead.
[ Is it strongly worded? Maybe. But it's honest and comes with a smile. ]
Let's go inside before someone else decides to change that.
no subject
The day seems to fly by between pouring over the town's historical archives at the library and observing the church at a distance from the coffee shop to see if there is anyone noteworthy who might be coming and going. There has been days of this, but today feels different. Today she can look forward to seeing someone, maybe even chatting in a setting that doesn't found like pulling teeth.
She returns to her hotel to change for the evening finding herself switching between jackets maybe one too many times before leaving the room with a quick fuck it chiding herself for being so fussy. She's been to this restaurant before, even, and yet when she pulls up in her rental vehicle and sees the salt-and-pepper-haired man on the bench waiting for her, Elsa's stomach does actual flips.
This feels so childish. He's got a keen sense of smell, no doubt, and has sensed her by now: no sense in dragging this out. Heaving in a deep breath and closing her eyes, she steps out of the vehicle and closes the door with a lingering touch: she may as well be stepping into space rather than a vehicle with these nerves.
The closer she gets the more the stomach turns seem to stop. Hands stuffed in her coat pockets and shoulders high she approaches the bench. This is the cold nature she is notorious for, the attitude that takes a moment to defrost: Bloodstones aren't a friendly people. ]
Hello.
[ That's what people say to each other for pleasantries, right? It feels a little off, maybe colder than she intends. Raising a hand to just below ear level Elsa offers something close to a wave. ]
Glad you're not dead.
[ Is it strongly worded? Maybe. But it's honest and comes with a smile. ]
Let's go inside before someone else decides to change that.