"It still might come to that, depending on how this goes," she says over her shoulder, still watching the door. There is a plan, she swears, and as soon as these people come through the door, it'll happen.
She waits.
And waits.
(Out in the hall, someone says "THAT'S OKAY, I'LL FEEL YOUR LEGS FOR YOU," and laughs in rather a suggestive way.)
But any second now the people in the hall will stop fooling around and find their key and come through that door and--
"I GAVE YOU THE KEY, I SWEAR."
"Jesus Christ," Rachel mutters, and there's a clear, impatient note of do I have to do everything myself about the Son of God's name taken in vain there. Look, really, why can't people get with a plan and stop drunkenly pussyfooting around in the hall when she's waiting for them to do something? Honestly.
She pushes off the bed, heading for the door, clearly addressing it with a very loud "What the hell is going on? I didn't pay all this money to get up here and have my night disturbed like this."
The noise beyond the door subsides.
"This is ridiculous-- no, you stay there," she adds, addressing Bruce as she pulls the door open, oh so neatly letting the people gathered on the other side know she's not alone in the room. "Can I help you guys?"
"Um. This is our room."
"No, this is our room, they said so at the front desk. Our key opened the door and everything. You guys sure you have the right room?"
There's some discussion among the four people in the hall, and the consensus is, yes, it is their room, they have the right number. "Then you guys just totally paid for a room that you can't use, you better go back down there and deal with that." When the partiers don't appear to be prompted by that, she adds, with a pointed tone and an elaborate shrug: "We're already using the bed and everything."
Some more discussion, a lot of yeah, this is messed up from beyond the threshold, and a bit of I'm sorry about this but I don't want you guys' night ruined, go make them give you the right room on Rachel's part, and the group finally goes staggering back toward the elevators.
She closes the door and turns, leaning against it. And as much as she's trying to keep up that air of collected, I-totally-handled-that confidence, the slight sag of her posture as she puts her back to the door, and the swift, shallow rise and fall of her chest give away that she's running on adrenaline and probably pretty damn surprised that worked as well as it did.
"Hopefully that buys us enough time to get the hell out of here before we have to consider your out-the-window plan."
no subject
She waits.
And waits.
(Out in the hall, someone says "THAT'S OKAY, I'LL FEEL YOUR LEGS FOR YOU," and laughs in rather a suggestive way.)
But any second now the people in the hall will stop fooling around and find their key and come through that door and--
"I GAVE YOU THE KEY, I SWEAR."
"Jesus Christ," Rachel mutters, and there's a clear, impatient note of do I have to do everything myself about the Son of God's name taken in vain there. Look, really, why can't people get with a plan and stop drunkenly pussyfooting around in the hall when she's waiting for them to do something? Honestly.
She pushes off the bed, heading for the door, clearly addressing it with a very loud "What the hell is going on? I didn't pay all this money to get up here and have my night disturbed like this."
The noise beyond the door subsides.
"This is ridiculous-- no, you stay there," she adds, addressing Bruce as she pulls the door open, oh so neatly letting the people gathered on the other side know she's not alone in the room. "Can I help you guys?"
"Um. This is our room."
"No, this is our room, they said so at the front desk. Our key opened the door and everything. You guys sure you have the right room?"
There's some discussion among the four people in the hall, and the consensus is, yes, it is their room, they have the right number. "Then you guys just totally paid for a room that you can't use, you better go back down there and deal with that." When the partiers don't appear to be prompted by that, she adds, with a pointed tone and an elaborate shrug: "We're already using the bed and everything."
Some more discussion, a lot of yeah, this is messed up from beyond the threshold, and a bit of I'm sorry about this but I don't want you guys' night ruined, go make them give you the right room on Rachel's part, and the group finally goes staggering back toward the elevators.
She closes the door and turns, leaning against it. And as much as she's trying to keep up that air of collected, I-totally-handled-that confidence, the slight sag of her posture as she puts her back to the door, and the swift, shallow rise and fall of her chest give away that she's running on adrenaline and probably pretty damn surprised that worked as well as it did.
"Hopefully that buys us enough time to get the hell out of here before we have to consider your out-the-window plan."