(no subject)

[omgplsstop]

Nichola is angry when she comes in today. She shouldn't be angry, but she is. It shouldn't be so difficult to go on a date with a cute guy, have some dinner, and maybe wind up at his place afterward. And yet. And yet here she is.

She is not going to throw things, or shout, or do anything else that she really wants to do today. She is a professional lady, and she will act as such. Right after she gets a very big, very stiff drink from the bar.

Comments

[herr_bookman]

Autor takes a seat beside her. "Wilford giving you trouble?"

[omgplsstop]

"Hmm?" She looks over at Autor and shakes his head. "No. I wouldn't mind punching Mandy once or twice though."

It's all his fault. For hiring that dinosaur of an agent.

[herr_bookman]

Autor orders coffee. "What did Mandy do?"

[omgplsstop]

"He." Nichola sighs. "Nothing. He got an agent."

She's very happy for him! Just not at this moment.

She gets a raspberry martini from the bar. It has a little cocktail sword with berries stuck to it. Even this is not enough to lift her mood.

[herr_bookman]

Autor tilts his head at her. "Then why are you angry?"

[omgplsstop]

"Because she's a cock-blocking kaiju," Nichola grumbles into her drink.

"Sorry. You didn't want to hear that."

[herr_bookman]

"I... see," Autor says, adjusting his glasses. "Well, I'm sorry that you're angry."

[omgplsstop]

Nichola shrugs and takes a drink of her martini before she says anything else she probably shouldn't.

"Heard you quit."

[herr_bookman]

"I'm quitting soon, yes," Autor says, sipping his coffee. It's weak, just like he's used to from the front. "I've made enough money to travel to America in my world and go to medical school."

[omgplsstop]

"Good. That's great!" She means it too, even if she is still a touch annoyed. "When's your last day?"

[herr_bookman]

"The fifteenth, I think. Might be later than that, so Wilford has enough time to find a replacement," Autor says, shaking his head. "We shall see."

[omgplsstop]

Nichola nods. And then she realises something.

Maybe it's the schadenfreude, or the extremely bad date she just failed to have, but Autor leaving two weeks before Wilford's surgery is suddenly the funniest thing ever.

"The fifteenth of June?"

[herr_bookman]

"Yes? Unless I should leave at a different date?" Autor says, blinking at her.

[i_am_your_host]

"Well, that looks like a painkiller," comes a wry but conversational remark from a few barstools over.

Emcee is sitting there, cigarette between his fingers, leaning over a magazine open in front of him. His makeup is flawless, his simple clothing (white sleeveless shirt, cropped trousers, and beat-up combat boots) not giving any particular era away. He takes a sip of gin and eyes the bespectacled young woman over the rim of the glass, slightly feline in his expression.

"Bad day, darling?"

[omgplsstop]

By contrast, Nichola is dressed professionally, but ready for triple-digit heat. A tidy blouse and a dark skirt. A short heel on her shoes, because she doesn't need the extra three inches to terrify the men in her life that need terrifying.

"Oh, you know. Thirty eight and still single."

It shouldn't bother her as much as it does, but she can't even get through ten minutes of a first date without disaster.

The raspberry martini she's presented with seems like it's meant to lift spirits. All it's going to do is get her a start on getting drunk.

[i_am_your_host]

"What? You don't look a day over twenty-five."

It may be a cheesy line, but at least he knows it is. Still, he says it with no malice, and she does look quite youthful to him.

"Besides, I never understood what age has to do with anything. Are you in a hurry?"

[omgplsstop]

Nichola smiles, trying not to let her foul mood spill over into everything. "I have a good makeup department," she says.

Also her canon is weird.

"Not in a hurry, no. Not exactly. Just..."

Sick of being single? She doesn't know. She takes a drink of her martini.

[i_am_your_host]

He smiles when she does, in a hey, there's a smile kind of way. But she doesn't have to be all smiles. As indicated by her next statement. And he tilts his head, resting his chin in his palm.

"You just want someone around to have fun with?"

[omgplsstop]

"Don't most people?" she asks. "It's not like I want to get married and have a bunch of kids. But I'd like to have a man in my life who isn't on my payroll."

She realises she's doing it again - she's sounding like some boy-crazy high schooler. She drowns that thought real quick with another drink of her martini.

[i_am_your_host]

"That doesn't sound unreasonable to me," says the lifelong bachelor, reasonably.

"What happened tonight that has you drowning your angst in a martini?"

[omgplsstop]

"Blind date. Nice place, if a little crowded. My phone would not stop ringing, and when I got up to answer a call that didn't want going to voicemail, the weasel ditched me."

She shakes her head. He was so cute too.

"I get it now. Why all my colleagues are men."

[i_am_your_host]

"Oh, no! What a jackass. Well, it's his loss, darling."

He takes a drag off his cigarette before giving her another inquiring look.

"And why are they?"

[omgplsstop]

Nichola eats one of her raspberries. "Because as soon as you admit to having a career, you're no longer attractive."

That cigarette is really starting to look good.

"They let you do that in here?" she asks, pointing to his general direction.

[i_am_your_host]

"Isn't that...old-fashioned?" he says, his brow knitted. That same sentiment was expressed by all the progressive, forward-thinking flappers a decade ago. Apparently it's an ongoing issue.

At her question, he makes an effort to look around.

"I don't see the cigarette police. But I always put them out if someone complains, and so far I have not received any. Would you care for one?"

[omgplsstop]

"You'd think so," she says. Apparently it's not as old-fashioned as it should be.

She looks around too, and he's right. Nobody's complaining. In fact, other people are smoking as well.

"Please," she says. She filled up her inventory with pepper spray and knives. There's no room for cigarettes.