[It is way, way too long between the time in which Avery chokes down a tiny sip of liberally air-cooled chai and that when she sets the cup down, draws her thumb across her mouth, and gives the other woman a speculative look. Another second is wasted chewing on the corner of her thumb and flicking her eyes up and down nervously, before she finally drops her hand back down to the table and says:] So.
You, uh. Been in Locke long? [So smooth. Killer topic, kid.]
no subject
You, uh. Been in Locke long? [So smooth. Killer topic, kid.]