(no subject)

Ellen's next trip to the clothes box is slightly successful. It gives her more than a sundress, at least. And in her conversations with others, she's finding out more and more about this place. Like the fact that there's more than just the bar — or the pub, at least. There's two, if you count the one that serves food in addition to drinks, but it's not a meal she's after. She needs to be out, to avoid the inevitability of allowing herself to stay cooped up in her room for too long. It's when she's alone with her thoughts that it becomes dangerous. She thinks of David, too often, and she needs to give herself the chance to forget, at least for now.

She's not going to let herself feel guilty. She's not even going to allow herself to dwell. Instead, she's going to take a seat at the bar, wearing a white dress patterned with flowers that miraculously fits her like a glove, her shoulders and cheeks tinged pink from the sun, and as she orders herself a martini, it's almost starting to feel like she's back at home. She closes her eyes, anticipating the sound of the cabs outside, the occasional horn blaring, the noise of Manhattan streets in the evening. Instead, a slight breeze from beyond the coverings brings in a burst of warm air, and when she breathes in, she can smell the sea salt still lingering.

Ellen sighs audibly, reaches for her drink as it comes, and takes a long, long sip, exhaling softly as she sets the glass back down on the bar. Her gaze trails down towards the other end, locking onto the unfamiliar slope of a pair of shoulders, and she finds herself momentarily transfixed.