waiting {zara!}

[drake raphael elliot]

In a not-unusual set of circumstances, Drake was standing in the lobby of the police station waiting to meet Will for lunch. Drake was about fifteen minutes early, but that did not excuse the fact that it had been ten minutes and Will wasn't there yet--he probably wouldn't get there on time, either. He didn't want to be in the station anyway. It had been awkward ever since he'd resigned and everyone who knew him gave him strange looks as they walked by. Armed with this knowledge, and also a bit hungry, Drake was standing next to a vacant bench, arms folded and scowling.

If there was one thing that Drake was good at, it was being stoic and pretending that everything around him didn't exist. People may have acknowledged him in the midst of their rude staring, but Drake was generally unreceptive because he was too busy staring at a small corner of the wall while he stood with his arms crossed over his chest. His briefcase was resting on the floor against his leg with his jacket neatly folded over it, draped so that it wouldn't touch the floor on either side.

Some people that he didn't know were looking at him strangely as well. This may have been because he was standing next to a bench and speaking to no one, but Drake didn't care one way or another. He wanted to keep his contact with the police force to a minimum and god dammit, he was going to stand right there and not move until Will arrived.

[zara may sterling]

It had been one of the best mornings of Zara’s life. A sudden influx of bodies into the mortuary had meant that the Chief was overloaded with cases and she had, that very morning, been allowed to perform her first solo autopsy since qualifying as a medical examiner. The case was fairly straight-forward and not at all challenging, however Zara was very proud of herself and couldn’t believe it when the Chief announced that it was already time for lunch. Somewhat reluctantly, she stripped the gloves from her pale hands and thoroughly washed them before shrugging off her white lab coat and hanging it on the back of the door.

Zara had planned on stepping out for lunch with her friend, Daphne and so headed to the desk in the lobby to find out where she was. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Daphne had been caught up on the beat and showed up late. As it turned out, that was exactly what had happened and Zara sighed quietly before thanking the lady on the desk. She was never late. Turning around, Zara smiled slightly at the scowling figure standing next to the bench she was making a bee-line for.

Sliding herself on to the seat, Zara sat in silence for a few moments before looking up at the man.

“I do hope you haven't been stood up, as well!” she said, offering a small smile to the stranger.

[drake raphael elliot]

Drake ignored his new company when she arrived. Standing by a bench was always hazardous when one wanted to remain as separated from the crowd as possible, since most people who wanted to sit down were not deterred by someone who was not sitting. He rarely sat down on benches, however, because an open bench seat was practically an invitation for conversation, and so he was used to standing by the arm and ignoring the occupants. Thus, he almost jumped in surprise at being addressed by the woman there, but managed to contain his alarm in one single clenching of the jaw.

He glanced down at the woman--someone he didn't recognize, so probably new. Most people had been into the financial area at least once, especially the younger employees who were more easily bullied into filing things by the older ones.

"No." His voice was a low rumble and he clenched his jaw back together when he'd finished speaking, turning to look straight forward. He almost felt like he should have offered some condolences to the woman for being stood up, but she didn't look too torn up about it, nor did she seem to have been waiting for long. Perhaps whoever she'd been planning to meet had called to cancel, but if that were the case, would she be sitting on the bench? Only if she wasn't an employee--which would make sense and help explain why Drake didn't recognize her.

"Do you work here?" he asked, glancing down at her only long enough to indicate that she was being addressed. He didn't want her to think that he was trying to have a conversation--but he did want to know the answer to that question.

[zara may sterling]

Zara looked up from her spot on the bench at the stranger's face -- he was obviously going to great lengths to avoid looking at her and if she hadn't found the whole thing so comical she might have been offended -- he was coming across a little rude. Studying him for a few moments before answering, she decided that he was maybe just having a bad day.

"Yes, I work here. Do you?" she asked, crossing one leg over the other and tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear. She couldn’t recall seeing the man here before, but she had only worked here a matter of weeks. Wherever he worked, Zara was certain that he was not winning any prizes for his friendly and open demeanor.

[drake raphael elliot]

He supposed he had started it. Asking a question was a catalyst for real conversation and he'd gone and broken that seal with his damn curiosity. He cursed his chattiness. "Not anymore," he said, mostly looking forward but casting her quick glances every few seconds. He may have been antisocial, but even he knew that it was rude not to look at someone when they spoke. He may not have been keeping eye contact, but he was at least letting her know that he was paying attention.

"You're not an officer, are you?" He had seen some female officers, sure, but it was always a surprise to him when they were so dainty and lithe and wearing bulletproof vests. Of course, those women were also identifiable from their uniforms, which she was not wearing, but perhaps she was a detective--he almost chuckled at this thought, but managed to keep his amusement to himself.

[zara may sterling]

Zara decided very quickly that the man was simply awkward. He didn’t know how to talk to people and that was okay – she was well aware that the art of polite conversation with strangers was a very southern thing -- her mother in particular had the ability to talk with someone as if she’d known them her whole life. Looking down briefly at her emerald dress, Zara quickly remembered that she had left her lab coat in the mortuary.

“Oh good lord, no!” she laughed lightly, waving the thought away. “I work in the mortuary.” She continued, preparing herself for one of two reactions – most people who knew where she worked were either intrigued or disgusted.

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember you. I’m fairly new.” Zara added, certain that he’d worked that one out all by himself.

[drake raphael elliot]

That made more sense to Drake, even though she didn't look like she should be working in a mortuary. He had gotten used to Mieke and learned that all of the weird females found their way to the station--since it took a special kind of person to want to look at dead bodies or put themselves in danger every day. Nothing around here really surprised Drake anymore.

"Doing what?" he asked, since there were countless things one could do in a mortuary--like put makeup on the bodies or cut them up and look inside of them. He shook his head at her apology. "I haven't worked here in over a month. I don't expect to be remembered."

[zara may sterling]

Indifference was not really one of the reactions that Zara had factored in when she had told the man where she worked. Still, he had worked at the station so he probably was well used to the weird and wonderful goings on in the world of criminals and their victims.

Gathering herself and trying not to let her mind wander too far (as it was prone to do at times), Zara beamed at him. “I’m a medical examiner.” She explained, before frowning slightly and correcting herself. “Junior, that is. I’ve not long finished my residency.”

Looking up at the man she couldn’t quite decide what on earth he could have worked as – he seemed far too well turned out to be an officer and certainly didn’t appear to have the people skills to be a detective.

“What is it that you do yourself? If you don’t mind me pryin’, of course.” Zara asked, giving his suit and briefcase another once over before settling her gaze back on his face.

[drake raphael elliot]

Drake nodded at her explanation. That would explain her age, at least. He'd only met the medical examiner once, but did know that said medical examiner was not this young woman. "Well, congratulations on your graduation from medical school," he said, unsure of what else to say in this context. He didn't peg her as being much older than him--if she was older at all--and he knew plenty of people didn't get out of med school until their thirties. She must have worked hard and quickly.

He winced at her accent, still not entirely over his short bout of living in the South. Florida was more like the North--at least in this part--but there were still real Southerners lurking around every corner and he was always just a little bit sadder when he found one. "I am an accountant," he said, lifting his briefcase a few inches to display it. "I used to be a forensic accountant, but I didn't like it." Because Drake was too boring for anything that involved exciting accounting...such as forensic accounting.