03-28-2015, 09:59 AM
Just as Torri was getting passed the invitation to avoid being alone, the waitress delivered a hand-written note, indicating it was from the same table. Quite taken aback, Torri opened the paper and read its contents, careful to avoid looking toward the individual that penned it. She had glanced at him briefly before, but picturing him now in her mind did not reveal any significant memory: mid thirties, average height, fit physique, black hair, light eyes, well-dressed. She didn't know him. Yet, clearly, he knew her.
A deep breath and logical thought steadied her nerves. She was on edge only because the past few weeks had been tense. She couldn't shake this feeling, though. Her mother would call it a woman's intuition, but Torri thought it was common sense, or, perhaps the type of sense common to the military trained. She'd never worked with such high-security government clearance before. The atmosphere clouding her daily life had made her paranoid. A question beckoned. Was it for good reason?
A cup of bitterly smelling tea was placed before her, no saucer. The limp string of a tea bag dangled over the edge, and Torri sighed. She attempted a taste when Drayson responded. The message made a faint smile touch the edges of her lips, but of course it flattened upon tasting the tea. The paper with Dorian's note was placed aside, but not yet discarded. If Drayson were coming, perhaps she would show it to him.
Since her wallet was in hand, she ran a name search on Dorian Vega. Her status as a medical officer in the CCD army gave the search no particular advantage, but it seemed she didn't need any. His name wasn't difficult to find. His father was even easier to identify, but Torri had never heard of him. There were thousands of corporations associated with the medical sciences, and Torri was well isolated beyond entrepreneurial reach. Most, but not all, of her work was classified. Perhaps he was aware of Torri from her time in Berlin? Perhaps the connection was totally innocuous.
Thankfully, others entered the restaurant. In particular, two men, one shortly after the other: eerily similar to the pattern of Dorian and his companion. Off these newcomers, however, Torri had zero odd vibes. The first, early thirties, average height, slim build, curly hair, was actually quite attractive. Wow. The second, early forties, solid build, blonde, carried himself confidently, but without that identifiable presence of threat in his steps.
Soon enough, someone entered that lifted a sense of relief throughout. He looked good. Less tired than he had on their date. Drier, certainly. As he approached, she wondered whether she should shake his hand or stand and hug him? Not knowing exactly how to classify their acquaintance, she opted to shake his hand, as it seemed more professional. Not that she was wanting to maintain only a professional relationship with him, but neither had he really given her a sign to suggest he wanted otherwise.
Thoughts of propriety dissolved when she realized the long look he gave the same pair of men that she had cause to worry over. Did he know them? He didn't gesture some sort of greeting in acknowledgment suggesting such knowledge was not of the best nature. Or maybe she was reading too much into a simple glance again. Either way, he was here. She offered to shake hands.
"Good afternoon, Drayson. A pleasure to see you. Thank you for coming."
As he arranged himself, she frantically thought about what to say next. Why did she always clam up around him? It's not as if they had nothing to talk about, but it was like pulling teeth sometimes. "So. Have you stayed dry since the last time we saw one another?"
Her eyes strayed to Dorian's note still sitting on the side of the table. Oh. What the hell?
She lowered her voice and angled herself so that Dorian and his companion would have a hard time reading her lips, if one were so inclined. It wasn't as though they were seated in immediate proximity to one another. "Do you know something about them? One gave me a wrong impression and the other sent me this note. I'm unaccustomed to strangers knowing my name."
She subtly gestured toward the note, but did not actually push it in front of Drayson.
A deep breath and logical thought steadied her nerves. She was on edge only because the past few weeks had been tense. She couldn't shake this feeling, though. Her mother would call it a woman's intuition, but Torri thought it was common sense, or, perhaps the type of sense common to the military trained. She'd never worked with such high-security government clearance before. The atmosphere clouding her daily life had made her paranoid. A question beckoned. Was it for good reason?
A cup of bitterly smelling tea was placed before her, no saucer. The limp string of a tea bag dangled over the edge, and Torri sighed. She attempted a taste when Drayson responded. The message made a faint smile touch the edges of her lips, but of course it flattened upon tasting the tea. The paper with Dorian's note was placed aside, but not yet discarded. If Drayson were coming, perhaps she would show it to him.
Since her wallet was in hand, she ran a name search on Dorian Vega. Her status as a medical officer in the CCD army gave the search no particular advantage, but it seemed she didn't need any. His name wasn't difficult to find. His father was even easier to identify, but Torri had never heard of him. There were thousands of corporations associated with the medical sciences, and Torri was well isolated beyond entrepreneurial reach. Most, but not all, of her work was classified. Perhaps he was aware of Torri from her time in Berlin? Perhaps the connection was totally innocuous.
Thankfully, others entered the restaurant. In particular, two men, one shortly after the other: eerily similar to the pattern of Dorian and his companion. Off these newcomers, however, Torri had zero odd vibes. The first, early thirties, average height, slim build, curly hair, was actually quite attractive. Wow. The second, early forties, solid build, blonde, carried himself confidently, but without that identifiable presence of threat in his steps.
Soon enough, someone entered that lifted a sense of relief throughout. He looked good. Less tired than he had on their date. Drier, certainly. As he approached, she wondered whether she should shake his hand or stand and hug him? Not knowing exactly how to classify their acquaintance, she opted to shake his hand, as it seemed more professional. Not that she was wanting to maintain only a professional relationship with him, but neither had he really given her a sign to suggest he wanted otherwise.
Thoughts of propriety dissolved when she realized the long look he gave the same pair of men that she had cause to worry over. Did he know them? He didn't gesture some sort of greeting in acknowledgment suggesting such knowledge was not of the best nature. Or maybe she was reading too much into a simple glance again. Either way, he was here. She offered to shake hands.
"Good afternoon, Drayson. A pleasure to see you. Thank you for coming."
As he arranged himself, she frantically thought about what to say next. Why did she always clam up around him? It's not as if they had nothing to talk about, but it was like pulling teeth sometimes. "So. Have you stayed dry since the last time we saw one another?"
Her eyes strayed to Dorian's note still sitting on the side of the table. Oh. What the hell?
She lowered her voice and angled herself so that Dorian and his companion would have a hard time reading her lips, if one were so inclined. It wasn't as though they were seated in immediate proximity to one another. "Do you know something about them? One gave me a wrong impression and the other sent me this note. I'm unaccustomed to strangers knowing my name."
She subtly gestured toward the note, but did not actually push it in front of Drayson.