 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Coraline watched the panel as Anna stepped forward, her gaze sharpening with a quiet, almost keen attentiveness as the selected floor shifted. There was a small, almost imperceptible pause in her posture as though she were measuring the response of the lift itself before the mechanism complied.
A soft chime answered, the ascent slowed, and then it stopped. For a fraction of a second, there was stillness. Then came the gentle, corrective lurch, subtle but unmistakable, followed by the smooth shift into descent.
The blonde exhaled, the tension in her shoulders easing by a degree so slight it would have gone unnoticed by most, though it softened the line of her posture all the same. Her fingers brushed once more against the strap of her satchel, a habitual motion, and the faint clink of glass answered like a quiet reassurance.
"Well corrected," she said after a beat, her tone measured but not ungenerous, the cadence of it deliberate. "It's remarkable how often the simplest intervention is the most effective."
Her eyes flicked briefly to Anna, then to the precariously balanced assortment in her arms, lingering—just for a moment—on the worn creature to analyze it for a fleeting moment.
"I suspect it will forgive you, your tea," she replied, the faintest trace of dry humour returning, subtle but present. "Most things do, given enough time."
__________________
 |