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Irvine Kinneas
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Date Posted: 11:14:43 10/14/01 Sun
Without bothering to excuse himself, a serious breach of restaurant policy, Irvine turns and jogs away from the doorway in the direction of the kitchens. Narrowly avoiding bumping into a woman returning from the washroom he pushes through the doors into the kitchen, stopping inside.
One of the other staff members must have noticed that they were no longer in a prominent location in Washington and informed the rest of the staff, because they were all now huddled around the small windows in the back of the Kitchen looking at the new scenery. Their emotions range from "Damn! This's so cool!" to "omigodomigodomigod". Irvine glances over them again, doesn't see the man he's looking for, and heads to the small office reserved for the manager. He knocks lightly, composes himself, and waits for an answer from inside.
"Y... yes?"
"Mr. Andrews?"
"C'min."
Stepping inside, Irvine was treated to the sight of a full-grown man huddling underneath his desk with his head between his knees. Like one of those old air-raid drills I read about..
"K...Kinneas? Is that you?"
"Yes, sir."
"What do y'need?"
"Why are you under your desk, sir?"
"Because we're suddenly not where we're supposed to be and the staff isn't doing their jobs and the customers are freaked out and the generators are only going to work for another half an hour!"
Oh, the generators. That explains why we've got power when there's no more powerlines.
"Anyway, Kinneas, what do you want?"
"I was wondering if I could have the rest of the day off, sir, considering..."
"If that's what you want, go ahead."
"Thank you, Mr. Andrews."
He steps lightly out of the office and shuts the door behind him, jogging across the kitchen without another glance to his coworkers. At the other end of the kitchen he heads into the employee lockers, stepping over to his and pulling it open, hanging his suit coat on the door. Inside hangs his regular clothes, and something long and relatively cylindrical wrapped in burlap, and a long leather trench coat.
He strips down out of his working clothes and puts on a tight-fitting black tan shirt, over which he buttons a black vest. He then pulls on a pair of black pants and then a pair of leather chaps over them. He reaches into a pocket of the pants and slides out a pair of black, fingerless gloves and after a moments comtemplation, pulls them on too. He pulls out the ponytail in his hair and ties it back again, this time leaving his bangs loose and hanging to the sides. He grabs the coat off the hanger inside and pulls out the trench coat. He runs the fabric between his fingers for a few moments before pulling it on and picking up the burlap package.
Irvine heads out of the changing room, eliciting a few glances his way as he passes out of the kitchen and into the restaurant itself. He stops at the door, turns, and gives a short, informal bow to the table he had just been serving.
"I hate to cut my time with you people short," On "you people" he glances to Lian, "but I want to check out the new locale."
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