[attr="class","rcposting1top"]

[attr="class","rcposting1mid"]


She'd double checked it once, then twice, and a third time simply because it was supposed to be a charm, but never had the time on the flier changed. To misread it once wasn't so brazen of an idea that she'd cast it out, and while two might have been stretching it at worst, she refused to believe that she'd been fooled thrice and all on separate occasions. Memory, too, had never done her in this spectacularly before, which had left her doubtful mind two options: first, that the paper in her hand was a misprint and she was no wiser to the actual time she should have been arriving than someone who knew nothing about this event outside of its name; and second, that the men and women who had organized this little outing had counted on the evening streets to be less busy and more open for the event. It seemed a little too bizarre to believe – wasn't this time slot when most book signings ended, not began? – and she'd believed that there was plenty of reason to question the authenticity of the paper in her hand, but no one had anything to gain from sabotaging a non-profit signing out in Occidental, and it wasn't as though she'd been specifically handed it in the first place. Just because you weren't supposed to tear down the posters and fliers from public places for your own convenience didn't mean that she wasn't going to, although if this was some sort of trap, this being karma for such menial thieving ways didn't seem too far fetched. Plans to arrive early had already been made, seeing at this sort of thing never came without long lines, particularly in the case of such a popular author as she was hoping to meet, but the shady time she'd read had her thinking that maybe she'd be smart to bump the time of her arrival just a little further up still. If all, including the sheet, was right, the worst that could happen was being left alone in a park she'd never minded strolling through, anyway. If not, then she'd at least be fortunately enough to catch the tail end of the whole Charade. At least – that was what she'd thought would be the case. If the mistake had only been within an hour's margin of error, there wouldn't have been any sort of problem outside of an aggravatingly long line to get a tiny signature on one book. (Worth it, she'd insist.) Looking out now, though, an hour's margin of error didn't exactly seem to be what was going on.[break][break]

Book stashed in the inner pockets of her coat, Evelyn scanned the noticeably empty park premises. The few stragglers, none of which looked to be the start or the end of anything remotely organized were painted golden by the dying sun or blotted by lengthening shadows cast by the trees and art pieces stationed around the area. Empty. There were people, yes, littered here and there, but they weren't her people, the ones that trembled excitedly in their boots with literary genius clasped in sweating hands. Black clad stick figures with little a thought on their mind was what they were. Was she too early? No, no, that would be a silly thought to entertain. Numbers alone and an idealistic mental image had made the idea of showing up before the crowds seem relatively plausible, but the darkness of the ending day rang true of another story entirely. She was later, and must have been horribly so to have missed even those who chose to straggle behind. At this rate, she wouldn't have been able to see the man behind it all – Valen Adams, one of many idols of her's – cleaning up after himself and his abundance of fans. What a mess. How anyone else might have known the correct time slot, she'd never know, but such inquiries found themselves buried underneath a tidal wave of frustration, regret, and more than a little self loathing. If only she'd looked elsewhere, found another source, done anything but take the word of a faulty slip of paper, she wouldn't have missed what might have been her only chance at meeting the redhead. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A loan groan pulled itself through barely parted lips at the self berating train of thought, and a moment was all it took to decide that standing around here wasn't going to make things any better. Wandering around before the event would have been fine; doing so to try to make up for missing it after would only serve to rub salt into fresh wounds.[break][break]

Her audible frustration – or maybe it was something else; really, she'd never know what had caught the stranger’s attention – didn't seem to go unnoticed, however. The raven-haired woman was just about to turn tail and flee, in fact, what a sudden question cut out into the “quiet” of the Seattle dusk air. “Is someone there?” Was someone there? Honestly, what kind of stupid question was that? Just because the park wasn't near as bustling in activity as it would have if it was, say, noon didn't mean that it was completely devoid of people. With a scan that was as brief as it was half-hearted, though, she realized that her general vicinity – and supposedly that around the owner of the voice, seeing as it didn't sound too far away – was relatively empty. Maybe the speaker wasn't prepared for someone to be so close. Well, no matter. She didn't care to know his reasons, much less who it was that was speaking, and without even bothering to turn to face the direction she thought the sound was coming from, she shook her head and said, “Just an idiot who couldn't make it to a book signing if her life depended on it.” With more than a little bitterness dripping into her tone, she added, “Please – don't bother yourself with me. You might just catch my lack of punctuality.”

[attr="class","rcposting1bot"]