Reservations

[Eidolon]

Eido selected several books from the shelves before she returned to her seat. The available mix was surprisingly esoteric, and pleasingly so to the studiousness of her nature. Resigned to patience amidst her discomforting surroundings, it was a wall behind which she gratefully took shelter. For a short time she gently explored the pages. Some ended splayed across the table’s surface in order to cross-reference passages, a slim finger keeping place when the loud hostess brought through more guests. Her hopes quickly sank, but beyond confirmation that it was not Kōta, Eido did not stare.

She was not unaware, yet she did not look up when a polite clearing of the throat preceded a man’s voice above.

A quick glance of the table’s detritus revealed her mistake. She’d had a drink at some point, but it must have been cleared when she’d wandered the room perusing the shelves. That had been remiss on her part, and grossly impolite. That it necessitated attendance to her table fluttered embarrassment, for whatever her feelings on the establishment and its reputation, she had little intention to be discourteous. 

Her attention pulled up to put brief identification to the voice that addressed her, but did not hold eye contact. Instead her head dipped an apology. “I am waiting for someone. They are late,” she said. Her voice was low for a woman’s, melodious, and presently contrite. English was not her native tongue, though little remained of her accent. “Forgive me. Do you need the table? It is busier now than when I arrived.” As she spoke she had already begun to close the open books, watching the careful rhythm of her own hands. She would nurse something at the bar if she needed to. She had not meant to take up the space.