● ╱╱ ¦ 🄱.ＲＩＡＲ

                  ' i bid my sincerest of apologies.                     it merely happens that you bear                     an uncanny resemblance to a — ‘                     pause. ' confederate of mine. ‘

❝ Is that so? Well, my only concern is     that I hope this confederate of yours     isn't delineating our mien. ❞

And a sigh left his lips. Perhaps, he should not just do it and rely on his senses. Then again, he was too exhausted to even think properly.  Thus, he had to ask this stranger a question— something he never usually did. ’Excuse me…but I am quite lost.     Perchance, you’d be so kind to tell me where the        nearest hotel is? Also, may I ask the date, bitte?’ 

Setting down the coffee cardboard holder on top of a newspaper stand she reaches up to fix her loose ribbon and button up her crimson coat, sniffling from he chilly breeze of the fall season.

    When she catches sound of footsteps     approaching however, she turns to the     young man and listens to his inquiry.     The answer was simple enough.

❝ That would be in West Georgia,     The Fairmont Hotel.  It's hard to     miss with it being the only one     with a green roof.

               [ text ]  okay, but, i’m a lot cooler than                             any dude. i promise it’ll be fun.

; ⟨⟪ ♚ ⟫⟩ ❞ ▌text.     "But I've never been       with          anyone.

brush. [meme]

; ⟨⟪ ♚ ⟫⟩ ❞ ▌        She blinks, unmoving at first as she feels the touch of another        person’s fingers stroking her hair. A presence which she hadn’t        noticed due to her wearisome condition of working the graveyard         shift, and now morning schedule.

        Her instincts tell her to strike, however, she recognizes the faint        aura - one she had met before and her tense shoulders that had        frozen in place start to relax,       slumping down to their natural         posture.

brush. [meme]

; ⟨⟪ ♚ ⟫⟩ ❞ ▌        It was a pleasant feeling, the sensation of another        individual other than herself brushing her auburn         strands, fingers grazing against scalp and red fibres.

        Larousse lets out an audible purr as her pencil drops        onto the desk with a quiet clatter, and she leans back        on her chair before stretching with a satisfying yawn.

        That is, until she realized - hair, someone was touching        her hair without her permission. “Oh! Please stop, I’ll fall        asleep if you keep doing that!”

        This was true, her head being more of the sensitive parts        of her body, like a cat she didn’t mind a bit of grooming         once in a while from strangers but that was only when         she went to salons, not pampered during working hours.

        But her voice holds no signs of frustration or anger as        she turns in her seat to look at her visitor, her own set        of nail-polished fingers dipping through the silk threads        of her mane, brushing them to rest over her shoulder        while straightening them out.

            “Sorry, I uhm… I hadn’t noticed you come in.              You’ve been visiting for quite a while now.

                                   Is there a problem?”