finn
it always feels more quiet in the dark
For a second Finn wants to clutch his wet clothes to himself, as if wondering what she wants with them, before he remembers that this is what secretaries are for. Apparently. "Cats, especially," he remarks, touching his fingers to the cut on his face that's dribbling blood before surrendering his coat and hat to her arms. Beneath, his suit jacket is also wet, but Finn takes care of that, hanging it on the back of his chair. His curls are damp and he's left in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, taking a moment to look at the note on his desk.
And then another moment. And a third.
"Miss, where did you get this?" he asks quietly, picking up the message and turnign to her. "I don't have an office telephone." There is one in his apartment (which really should be in his office, admittedly), but that door is locked.
Regardless, the message is intriguing - a series of numbers, like a latitude and longitude, and a name Finn can't pronounce, and yet he knows exactly where it belongs. Indeed, he's walking towards the cabinet before he stops himself, swallowing hard.
"Would you get me Mr. Johnson's file, please?" He gestures. It's her job or something, right?
And then another moment. And a third.
"Miss, where did you get this?" he asks quietly, picking up the message and turnign to her. "I don't have an office telephone." There is one in his apartment (which really should be in his office, admittedly), but that door is locked.
Regardless, the message is intriguing - a series of numbers, like a latitude and longitude, and a name Finn can't pronounce, and yet he knows exactly where it belongs. Indeed, he's walking towards the cabinet before he stops himself, swallowing hard.
"Would you get me Mr. Johnson's file, please?" He gestures. It's her job or something, right?
it always feels so stark
