07-07-2014, 01:51 PM
The cab stopped in front of what was truly a spectacularly dressed building. Any time of year, the antique architecture and elaborate front would have been breathtaking, but at Christmas, the building was draped in an incredible waterfall of twinkle-lights. Torri had intended to google-search the cafe, but the morning ran away from her. It had been all she could do to race home, change out of her scrubs, and make herself look presentable. In the cab itself, email distracted her further, and the result of her ignorance was to be rather blown away by the grandeur of the restaurant. She really, really hoped Drayson wasn't the kind of man that expected glamour. She didn't mind falling short of men's expectations, in fact, she could care less, but sharing an entire meal with someone that found her bookish and bland was not her idea of a great time.
She paid the driver and stepped from the car, carefully avoiding the winter slosh in the curb. The sidewalks were clean, however, and she had no trouble navigating the brickwork in classic black pumps. Her legs were cold, though, despite the short walk from street to the door. She held her wool peacoat close, but the cold breeze nipped at her legs anyway. She did not often wear a dress, less so for any personal reason, and even more rarely when such dress involved neutral-colored stockings. She was glad for the warmth of the interior, but she dallied in the foyer for a moment, taken aback by the richness adorning the walls and the scents permeating the air. Even if Drayson was a snob, perhaps she could enjoy a meal here any way.
She relinquished her coat and smoothed the simple black cocktail dress she wore beneath. Her hair was loosely held half-up and half-down. She'd always thought she had plain colored hair, but she was otherwise satisfied with the amount of attention she'd given it for the occasion. It was nice, honestly, to not have to deal with regulation-tight bun. Her makeup and earrings were likewise plain, but classic, and only served to soften her appearance where her usually stern expression could not.
"Do you have a reservation, ma'am?"
The host asked of her.
Torri blinked for a moment, "I'm meeting someone."
The host murmured for her to wait while he pulled up the current inventory of patrons. "Name?"
He asked.
"Mine or their's?"
Torri replied with a dry smirk that the host did not appreciate.
"Their's, ma'am."
If the cafe had facial recognition software, they clearly did not ping her as a person of interest.
"Drayson McCullough,"
she said, but her flat expression shifted curious when the host blinked his own surprise and suddenly made a fuss over her.
"Oh! Please, yes, ma'am he is here. If you will follow me, I will show you to your table."
Torri shrugged and followed him upstairs to what looked like a grandfatherly library from the previous century. The books were incredibly beautiful.
The host showed her to Drayson's table and pulled out a chair opposite him for her, but Torri did not sit immediately. She studied him for a moment and thanked the host for his assistance, hoping he'd get the message and leave.
He was handsome, surprisingly. His attire and manner seemed to fit the old library, like he was one of the books someone had recently dusted off the shelf to browse at their leisure. She was immediately comfortable with him. Something that took Torri by surprise. Perhaps because she'd spent so much time around people that made her hold her breath and rankle every hair on her body. The Facility's patients, the Kremlin, Mecca, Michael, the Ascendancy. She suddenly felt very tired, but she forced herself to smile and hoped the weariness didn't show through. Just as she hoped the remainder of the bruise on the side of her face was faded fully.
"Are you Drayson?"
She asked and offered to shake his hand. "I'm Victoria,"
she added. Perhaps it was the setting, but she felt her full name was more fitting.
She paid the driver and stepped from the car, carefully avoiding the winter slosh in the curb. The sidewalks were clean, however, and she had no trouble navigating the brickwork in classic black pumps. Her legs were cold, though, despite the short walk from street to the door. She held her wool peacoat close, but the cold breeze nipped at her legs anyway. She did not often wear a dress, less so for any personal reason, and even more rarely when such dress involved neutral-colored stockings. She was glad for the warmth of the interior, but she dallied in the foyer for a moment, taken aback by the richness adorning the walls and the scents permeating the air. Even if Drayson was a snob, perhaps she could enjoy a meal here any way.
She relinquished her coat and smoothed the simple black cocktail dress she wore beneath. Her hair was loosely held half-up and half-down. She'd always thought she had plain colored hair, but she was otherwise satisfied with the amount of attention she'd given it for the occasion. It was nice, honestly, to not have to deal with regulation-tight bun. Her makeup and earrings were likewise plain, but classic, and only served to soften her appearance where her usually stern expression could not.
"Do you have a reservation, ma'am?"
The host asked of her.
Torri blinked for a moment, "I'm meeting someone."
The host murmured for her to wait while he pulled up the current inventory of patrons. "Name?"
He asked.
"Mine or their's?"
Torri replied with a dry smirk that the host did not appreciate.
"Their's, ma'am."
If the cafe had facial recognition software, they clearly did not ping her as a person of interest.
"Drayson McCullough,"
she said, but her flat expression shifted curious when the host blinked his own surprise and suddenly made a fuss over her.
"Oh! Please, yes, ma'am he is here. If you will follow me, I will show you to your table."
Torri shrugged and followed him upstairs to what looked like a grandfatherly library from the previous century. The books were incredibly beautiful.
The host showed her to Drayson's table and pulled out a chair opposite him for her, but Torri did not sit immediately. She studied him for a moment and thanked the host for his assistance, hoping he'd get the message and leave.
He was handsome, surprisingly. His attire and manner seemed to fit the old library, like he was one of the books someone had recently dusted off the shelf to browse at their leisure. She was immediately comfortable with him. Something that took Torri by surprise. Perhaps because she'd spent so much time around people that made her hold her breath and rankle every hair on her body. The Facility's patients, the Kremlin, Mecca, Michael, the Ascendancy. She suddenly felt very tired, but she forced herself to smile and hoped the weariness didn't show through. Just as she hoped the remainder of the bruise on the side of her face was faded fully.
"Are you Drayson?"
She asked and offered to shake his hand. "I'm Victoria,"
she added. Perhaps it was the setting, but she felt her full name was more fitting.