 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Coraline's gaze dipped, briefly and precisely, to the source of the squeak, her eyes lingering on the worn little creature for half a second longer than strictly necessary. There was a flicker of something there—not quite amusement, not quite curiosity—before her attention returned, neatly, to the present.
Her fingers brushed absently against the strap of her satchel, as though reassuring herself of the integrity of what lay within. The faint chiming of glass answered her touch, quieter this time. She smoothed her thumb over the strap without looking as the lift hummed with its continued ascent.
"Then it would seem we've both been carried along by someone else's intentions," she observed, tone even, analytical rather than inconvenienced. "Though I imagine the Atrium will be more forgiving of the detour than my department tends to be."
She shifted her weight slightly, settling into stillness as the numbers continued their ascent. Her eyes flicked once more to the illuminated panel, its deviation still occupying her thoughts.
"We can always correct the direction the lift is heading, since we both need to go down," Coraline added after a moment, her voice calm, assured. "Provided nothing else intervenes."
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