>At the top of the stairs there is a small landing inset to the left. Off >the landing there is a door with the number 2 on it and another wooden >stair leading up to the third floor. Jac continues on up the stairs. On >the third floor there is an unmarked door which Jac opens, and holds >open for Mira. Mira steps inside, flashing a smile up at Jac as she moves past him, "Thank you, m'lord." >Looking inside, Mira sees a large room cris crossed with wooden beams. >This is clearly the attic of this building. However, the attic has been >turned into a restaurant...no more of a dining hall. How curious. Her eyes wander everywhere, bright and curious. >There are several rows of long wooden tables with wooden benches on >either side. People, young and old are seated at the tables eating and >talking. She can see that some servers are bringing out large platters >of food and setting them on the tables while others are removing empty >platters and taking them back to what must be the kitchens on the far >side of the room. > >Also at the far end of the room there is a low wooden platform where a >live band is playing. No, looking and listening again, Mira finds that >is is a string quartet playing something classical. She listens for a moment, judging their skill. Very pleasant. >Jac follows Mira in and says, "We pay for our meals before we eat." > >He points to the right, "The coatroom and restrooms are there if you >need to freshen up. I'll pay for our meals here." Mira smiles over slightly widened eyes, her hand flying to her hair. Windblown was probably the nicest thing anyone could say about her curly hair after their flying. "Thank you, I think I'll take advantage of that," She says, taking advantage of the offered escape. Of course, it occurs to her its also a smooth way to avoid her arguing that she should pay or something. She disappears into the restroom, judging the temperature of the restaurant. Was it warm enough to shed her sweater and drape it over her shoulders or even leave it in the coat room? She washes her face, with cool refreshing water and tends her makeup with carefully stowed compacts in her medical bag. She loosens the fastener in her hair and runs a brush through her curls, then rubs some controlling gel into her palms and applies it with practiced hands, defining and controlling the curl without sacrificing the soft loose style. She freshens her lipstick last, leaving her lips a soft glistening rose pink. She steps out and scans for sign of Jac. Mira
