[ this was not part of the original plan, and sévérine can't quite stop herself from flicking a nervous glance over at silva when he stops her. ]
Well. In an hour, then. [ with that, she gently disentangles herself from silva and makes her way toward her room, guards silently in tow. she can recognize a dismissal when she hears one, and frankly she'd prefer to leave him to whatever business he might have as soon as possible.
once she makes it inside her room, she pivots around, locks and deadbolts the door, and kicks off her shoes all in one smooth motion. she's not worried, per se, but force of habit is strong—and it's something to occupy her hands, albeit temporarily. her hair is next, as she carefully unpins her hair one piece at a time, shakes it out to remove some of the flatness from the plane, and repins it into a less stringently corporate style, a few tendrils hanging loose around her face.
having completely exhausted her list of things to do ( and having no desire whatsoever to unpack ) sévérine sinks down into one of the angular chairs clustered in her sitting area and sprawls as much as she dares, complimentary magazine in one hand and some hideously syrupy drama playing on the television, volume turned down low. she's barely paying attention to either, using the show mainly as a way to mark the time and the magazine as a way to practice her reading in mandarin. she's still fluent, albeit faintly khmer-accented, in spoken mandarin, but her hànzì skills are rusty, to put it politely. if they're intending to stay in china for long, then she needs to bring herself back up to speed; even if they're not, it's still a good idea.
time seems to have slowed to a crawl, but eventually the clock on sévérine's bedside table says that it's been an hour—although only after she's made it through some of the most excruciatingly boring articles on tourism abroad she's ever read. there's a polite tap on the door almost immediately after she notices that a full hour has passed; it seems one of her guards was also marking the time. how thoughtful.
she hesitates before standing up, then reluctantly unstraps the beretta, placing it delicately on the nearby end table, and peels the holster off her thigh. she'd really prefer not to be unarmed; even if they both know she'll never shoot him ( if she was going to do that, she'd have done it a long time ago ) the weight is reassuring, now that she's gotten used to it. still, going without is the safer option, under the circumstances. satisfied that she's—well, ready isn't quite the right word, but prepared, sévérine pads over to the door separating her room from silva's and knocks twice, smoothing out her skirt anxiously with her free hand. ]
☲ action
Well. In an hour, then. [ with that, she gently disentangles herself from silva and makes her way toward her room, guards silently in tow. she can recognize a dismissal when she hears one, and frankly she'd prefer to leave him to whatever business he might have as soon as possible.
once she makes it inside her room, she pivots around, locks and deadbolts the door, and kicks off her shoes all in one smooth motion. she's not worried, per se, but force of habit is strong—and it's something to occupy her hands, albeit temporarily. her hair is next, as she carefully unpins her hair one piece at a time, shakes it out to remove some of the flatness from the plane, and repins it into a less stringently corporate style, a few tendrils hanging loose around her face.
having completely exhausted her list of things to do ( and having no desire whatsoever to unpack ) sévérine sinks down into one of the angular chairs clustered in her sitting area and sprawls as much as she dares, complimentary magazine in one hand and some hideously syrupy drama playing on the television, volume turned down low. she's barely paying attention to either, using the show mainly as a way to mark the time and the magazine as a way to practice her reading in mandarin. she's still fluent, albeit faintly khmer-accented, in spoken mandarin, but her hànzì skills are rusty, to put it politely. if they're intending to stay in china for long, then she needs to bring herself back up to speed; even if they're not, it's still a good idea.
time seems to have slowed to a crawl, but eventually the clock on sévérine's bedside table says that it's been an hour—although only after she's made it through some of the most excruciatingly boring articles on tourism abroad she's ever read. there's a polite tap on the door almost immediately after she notices that a full hour has passed; it seems one of her guards was also marking the time. how thoughtful.
she hesitates before standing up, then reluctantly unstraps the beretta, placing it delicately on the nearby end table, and peels the holster off her thigh. she'd really prefer not to be unarmed; even if they both know she'll never shoot him ( if she was going to do that, she'd have done it a long time ago ) the weight is reassuring, now that she's gotten used to it. still, going without is the safer option, under the circumstances. satisfied that she's—well, ready isn't quite the right word, but prepared, sévérine pads over to the door separating her room from silva's and knocks twice, smoothing out her skirt anxiously with her free hand. ]