steven grant

Just supervise the set-up, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Well alright, those hadn't been the actual words, but the result was the same; Thera walking the paneled floor of the Special Exhibits Gallery, low heels clicking. A small group of workers stood by the entrance, waiting for her final 'OK' that meant the job was finished and they could go home.

She let her gaze wander over the display cases, the signage, the lights, the security cameras set high in the corners. Weeks of planning, the combined efforts of tradesmen setting things up, curators arranging the items for exhibit, and now the after-hours janitors sweeping up the last of the sawdust and the marks of work boots left on the tiles.

However, he wasn’t necessarily involved in the new exhibit just yet. Setting it up wasn’t his job, but he couldn’t stop from coming around and peeking in all the time, or asking for updates because he was curious. He didn’t know much about this at all. As annoying as he must have been— not his own choice of words— they did give the occasional update.

After hours at the museum was normally forbidden on the grounds of security and care; there were certain hours for certain things like lights, air, contact, to preserve certain remnants of their history and Steven respected that. But he stayed sometimes. He definitely stayed late tonight on the rumor that they would be finishing everything up, because he wanted to have a look around. Was it sneaky? Yes. He never actually stopped being sneaky.

He waits until he feels most have left to stick his head in, debating where or not to enter the room when he spots Thera. He doesn’t back out though— he follows through by being proactive enough to try and introduce himself.