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Control is an illusion to ease the pain that is life.

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Elinor looked at the clock tightly attached to her left wrist. She still had plenty of time, which was nice. It meant she didn’t have to hurry with her preparations. She stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself. She had chosen a nice, form-fitting professional black and white suit. Her long pink hair had been gathered into a tail on her back, as she otherwise knew it would flow wherever it wanted if it wasn’t. While that was admittedly a very cute look, today’s dealings did not call for cute.
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She applied the last of what small amount of make-up she wore, nothing fancy, a bit of eyeshade, and some lipstick, just to ramp up her natural features a bit. Once applied, she took a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for what she was about to go out and do. She glanced out the window of her Slateport apartment. The weather was nice, no clouds upon the midday sky, the sun shone brightly even for this time of the year. It was probably warm outside. Another look at her wrist-clock. She had to get going.
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She exited the apartment, suitcase in hand. It felt heavy, though this situation wasn’t something new, she had been spending a bunch more time doing trainer stuff lately, so being back on the treadmill of brokering deals on behalf of her parents was, almost uncomfortable for her, like getting back to work after a long vacation.
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She walked down the streets of Slateport until she arrived at the usual place, it was a quaint little Café. There weren’t a lot of customers, not even at this time of the day nor in this weather. It was the perfect place for talking business over a good ol’ cup of coffee. She looked over the people that sat at the tables outside. But none of them matched the description of the guy she was supposed to be meeting. There was the hipster wannabe-author smack dab in the middle of the place, laptop out as they were typing away. At the far end a small group of teenagers clearly skipping school, and then in the opposite corner someone whom she would consider a non-descript person. None of them was a sleazy middle-aged businessman with a thing for young pink-haired women. Before entering the premise she pulled out her phone and checked if she had been sent a message about a change in schedule. But she saw none.
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As she stood there for what was probably three minutes or so, clearly appearing to be waiting for someone, she would do another scan of the place as if he were to magically appear, somehow. Of course, he could be inside, but he had been the one to suggest an outside table, so she didn’t assume that he would go inside.

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@pharaohleap
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