The difficulties Rush endured in locating yet another cab were far from the most disagreeable circumstances to arise from a day that has been little else but a sequence of disagreeable cirucumstances, but that ridiculously complicated task managed to stand out by virtue of requiring him to adequately manage the exchange and request and money and distance and navigation and various social cues for which he had very little time or patience, and he has a profound objection to the necessity of interaction with people who insist on wasting his time. As if in recompense, pinpointing Asadi's most likely location was no great challenge.
The solution set to the problem of her arm had presented itself easily, though the difficulties arose in converting theories in abstraction to practice in what is immediate, and the solution set to locating her had been a deceptively simple function. He is certain Asadi is aware of this.
He fires a brusque response to Greta's anxious commentary - 'found her' - as he approaches Asadi, she who has her back to him and her arm in a sling and with her hair spilling over the lifting breeze, and finds he can think of nothing to say.
He stops, clipped and weary.
The subtleties of meaningful interaction are not a science he is wholly interested in, and would have preferred to leave that largely to Greta, who rather excels in that particular area. But clearly that will be a non-workable solution here, and so he does not execute.
He watches her, and the crease between lowered brows darkens.
"Well," he says neutrally, folding his arms. "That was fair fucking predictable."
no subject
The solution set to the problem of her arm had presented itself easily, though the difficulties arose in converting theories in abstraction to practice in what is immediate, and the solution set to locating her had been a deceptively simple function. He is certain Asadi is aware of this.
He fires a brusque response to Greta's anxious commentary - 'found her' - as he approaches Asadi, she who has her back to him and her arm in a sling and with her hair spilling over the lifting breeze, and finds he can think of nothing to say.
He stops, clipped and weary.
The subtleties of meaningful interaction are not a science he is wholly interested in, and would have preferred to leave that largely to Greta, who rather excels in that particular area. But clearly that will be a non-workable solution here, and so he does not execute.
He watches her, and the crease between lowered brows darkens.
"Well," he says neutrally, folding his arms. "That was fair fucking predictable."