It's not much effort to move toward where two or three people are already milling, holding receipts, purses, looking toward the counter in a combination of anxious, impatient and bored. Waiting. Not pointing out that Danny Williams brilliant plan is knocking more minutes off the afternoon. Sure. Food probably isn't a world eradicating concept, but he didn't choose it, wouldn't choose, over the alternative, and he'd rather it took less time than it was already.
When he's standing in an open spot, arms crossed, waiting there for it.
Trying to tune out Danny drumming his fingers. Because the man never stops moving.
It's not much. The bare room, with it's normal cliche number of small tables and smaller chairs.
The kind that every fast food chain on the face of the planet, countries over, must order from the same place, just in different colors and textures, types of wood and plastic. Where kids are sitting, swinging their feet, with frazzled parents telling them to stop playing with their toys, or their food, and eat. Couples and groups together, packing away whatever their plates are, passing words between bites, and the occasional loner who snagged a table, buried in their phone or laptop.
No one in this place is a threat. Even the concept is laughable, and the barest few seconds it takes to know that doesn't actually eradicate the waiting time either. Leaving Steve irritably longing to moving, to get everything moving, to get way from this innocuously inconvenient pause, even though he stands there perfectly still. Like he could under any circumstance, no matter how inconvenient to his person. Going over the last things. Hoping that whatever lead Chin Ho has just laughed about at them before getting on his bike was a good one.
That whatever it was would be an actual lead, to the leader of the Snakeheads, and not just another small fish that might have another name, who have another name, along with a list of superficial demands that, again, were more cheatingly cumbersome than actually taxing. Someone they could roll on to put them in the right direction for Hesse, and soon. Soon. Before time ran out, in their increasingly closing window closed. The clock that was closing for Hesse, and even more for them, because he wouldn't be anywhere waiting for them to catch up and there was good money he could be even less predictable because of Anton.
Leaving Steve glancing at his kobold, and the kids behind the counter, willing them to just call the number so they could get going.
There were more important things to do with this evening, and he wanted to be back doing them already. Not standing here.
no subject
When he's standing in an open spot, arms crossed, waiting there for it.
Trying to tune out Danny drumming his fingers. Because the man never stops moving.
It's not much. The bare room, with it's normal cliche number of small tables and smaller chairs.
The kind that every fast food chain on the face of the planet, countries over, must order from the same place, just in different colors and textures, types of wood and plastic. Where kids are sitting, swinging their feet, with frazzled parents telling them to stop playing with their toys, or their food, and eat. Couples and groups together, packing away whatever their plates are, passing words between bites, and the occasional loner who snagged a table, buried in their phone or laptop.
No one in this place is a threat. Even the concept is laughable, and the barest few seconds it takes to know that doesn't actually eradicate the waiting time either. Leaving Steve irritably longing to moving, to get everything moving, to get way from this innocuously inconvenient pause, even though he stands there perfectly still. Like he could under any circumstance, no matter how inconvenient to his person. Going over the last things. Hoping that whatever lead Chin Ho has just laughed about at them before getting on his bike was a good one.
That whatever it was would be an actual lead, to the leader of the Snakeheads, and not just another small fish that might have another name, who have another name, along with a list of superficial demands that, again, were more cheatingly cumbersome than actually taxing. Someone they could roll on to put them in the right direction for Hesse, and soon. Soon. Before time ran out, in their increasingly closing window closed. The clock that was closing for Hesse, and even more for them, because he wouldn't be anywhere waiting for them to catch up and there was good money he could be even less predictable because of Anton.
Leaving Steve glancing at his kobold, and the kids behind the counter, willing them to just call the number so they could get going.
There were more important things to do with this evening, and he wanted to be back doing them already. Not standing here.