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Jan. 2nd, 2013
It's been months since she left the Deck-- so much so that she's going to start measuring it by years before she knows it. She's gotten used to her new home's unique little hustle-and-bustle, gotten used to being called Elaine and the new look that greets her in the mirror. Gotten used to modifying her accent just enough so other Deckians who may pass through don't suspect that her origins aren't really Seattle like she's telling the natives who ask.
Gotten used to the sluggish ache that the beat of her heart has become since the moment she left Edgar's side with little more than a whispered goodbye and a note that explained all the reasons why she shouldn't-- couldn't-- stay.
And life is... not particularly good, no, but hardly bad. More of a calm sort of mediocrity that she's adjusting to. Being a barista in one of the local coffee shops is nothing like the life she used to lead-- though the dishwashing, at least, is familiar-- but every day is just different enough that she's starting not to crave excitement.
And, well, looking up to see Edgar Eicheln walking in (why was he here, of all places?) is definitely not the sort of excitement she needs.
She pushes her (fake) glasses up the bridge of her nose a little higher, hopes that the hair change and the accent she's adopted will be enough for him not to recognize her.
Somehow she doubts it.
"...Can I take your order?"
Gotten used to the sluggish ache that the beat of her heart has become since the moment she left Edgar's side with little more than a whispered goodbye and a note that explained all the reasons why she shouldn't-- couldn't-- stay.
And life is... not particularly good, no, but hardly bad. More of a calm sort of mediocrity that she's adjusting to. Being a barista in one of the local coffee shops is nothing like the life she used to lead-- though the dishwashing, at least, is familiar-- but every day is just different enough that she's starting not to crave excitement.
And, well, looking up to see Edgar Eicheln walking in (why was he here, of all places?) is definitely not the sort of excitement she needs.
She pushes her (fake) glasses up the bridge of her nose a little higher, hopes that the hair change and the accent she's adopted will be enough for him not to recognize her.
Somehow she doubts it.
"...Can I take your order?"