Rae "Sunshine" Seddon (
sunbaked_baker) wrote in
milliways_bar2014-04-02 03:36 pm
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To see an opera
(Up in her room, Rae gets ready.)
When Sunshine comes down the stairs, today, she may not look wholly like herself. The baker is usually seen in the bar wearing bright t-shirts or sweaters, with colorful jeans and sneakers, her hair up in a ponytail or held back by a likewise colorful kerchief. One colorfully casual customer.
Today her hair is down, tumbling about her scarred shoulders in loose waves of red, and what she wears is not her normal style at all.
She takes care with her steps, and not just because of the silver heels that grace her feet. As she moves down the stairs, Rae consciously straightens her spine against the fluttery nervous feeling in her stomach, and hopes it will soon pass.
This is going to be an enjoyable outing. Rae refuses to let her feelings of self-consciousness mar it.
(ooc: Sunshine will likely be out of the bar for a while after this, so any and all threads are welcome, but will be millitimed to before her thread with Hannibal Lecter.)
When Sunshine comes down the stairs, today, she may not look wholly like herself. The baker is usually seen in the bar wearing bright t-shirts or sweaters, with colorful jeans and sneakers, her hair up in a ponytail or held back by a likewise colorful kerchief. One colorfully casual customer.
Today her hair is down, tumbling about her scarred shoulders in loose waves of red, and what she wears is not her normal style at all.
She takes care with her steps, and not just because of the silver heels that grace her feet. As she moves down the stairs, Rae consciously straightens her spine against the fluttery nervous feeling in her stomach, and hopes it will soon pass.
This is going to be an enjoyable outing. Rae refuses to let her feelings of self-consciousness mar it.
(ooc: Sunshine will likely be out of the bar for a while after this, so any and all threads are welcome, but will be millitimed to before her thread with Hannibal Lecter.)
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Except for all the scars. They'd recognize most of those. Even if they hadn't seen so many of them on display as they are.
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An imagination can furnish ample and wild ways for her to have gotten her strange collection of scars.
"Once, after a particularly bad night, a complete stranger at the coffeehouse slipped me a card with the number for a battered women's shelter on it, thinking to help."
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Wrestling bears, perhaps, and let them chew on that image a while.
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"I'll do my best not to laugh at the looks on their faces," she promises, grinning.
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She knows how hard it is for her to keep a thought off her face.
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It's less easy to fight it off when in an unfamiliar setting and surrounded by staring strangers. She doesn't have to tell him she's a bit nervous.
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"Yes," she says, and - reminded again how out of her sphere of experience this all is, genuine actions she's only seen in movies - places her hand at the crook of his elbow, "Let's go."
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It is large, and looks very much lived in, especially as the late Victorian room with its dramatic greys and reds is contrasted by mid-century modern furniture that looks oddly lived-in and comfortable, despite the abstractions of its design.
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"This would be your office?" Rae asks, looking up with a curious, wondering smile at the walls of bookshelves upon the mezzanine level. But for the grand desk sitting in the center of the room, she would have labeled the room a personal library.
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He makes a sparse gesture towards the chairs and the couch. "That is where I talk to my patients. Do take your time to look around if you'd like. Shall I get us some wine?"
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"It is a very nice office. I'm not sure what I was expecting," Rae murmurs, looking over at the chairs and couch. Something more clinical, certainly. Sitting in those chairs would be... just two people having a conversation. "I doubt the offices of psychiatrists in my world are anything like this."
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The writing that adorns the Edo-period prints above the pale azure couch - a spot of coolness contrasted with the otherwise warmly-colored office - is unfamiliar to her, but fascinating still, with the faces of the figures represented there.
"White would be fine, yes."
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"A simple domestic Chardonnay from Napa Valley," he says. "Crisp and deep, earnest and without frills. I find it goes well with books and music."
He offers her one.
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"All the best things go with books and music," Sunshine replies, breathing in the wine's scent for a good moment, before she sips.
"Mm, lovely. There're apples," she murmurs with a smile. After another sip, she adds, "and citrus. Indian summer in a glass."
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