<div style="text-align: right;"><strong>Paul Raike</strong> (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=84632.msg3727041#msg3727041) - <strong>Front Lobby</strong></div><br/>Paul pulled against the chain holding his bike to the rack outside one last time to make sure it was securely locked, before pushing his way through the smooth revolving door and into the lobby. He was surprised to find the place was bustling with people so early in the day, and he was suddenly keenly aware of how out of place he looked in his black biking shorts and windbreaker. He'd asked about it at the interview, and Miss Myobi had mentioned rooms for showering and changing; now, however, he didn't feel as sure, and wondered, not for the first time, why he hadn't just gone ahead and splurged on some cheap import. Sure, it would be harder on the environment, but he'd be walking in on his first day of work feeling clean and smelling fresh, instead of wearing the stink of ten miles of hard pedaling. He shifted his backpack and absentmindedly rubbed his shoulder where the well worn cushion had entrenched itself on a particularly steep climb during the ride, and considered his options. Going home seemed out of the question at this point, so... perhaps the receptionist knew of these changing areas?<br/><br/>He shrugged, and walked casually towards the front desk, letting his ground devouring strides similarly consume any worry he felt about feeling out of place. As he walked he let his gaze drift over the others, like a child playing hide and go seek to amuse himself at a boring adult party, and chased it with a smile when he caught someone's eye, but mostly he just looked, and walked, and very quickly he stood in front of the desk, looking down into the forlorn seat of the missing receptionist.<em>Well, shit,</em>he thought to himself,<em>there goes the quick solution.</em>It was possible that he might be able to wander the building until he found the proper room... and about as likely as being able to simply walk into a bank and look through the vault. He bit his lip as he looked around again, searching for a badge, or some clue that someone present worked at the gallery, and might be able to help him.<br/><br/>As his eyes crossed the crowd, a chord of familiarity rang out -- the curl of insanely cool dark hair playing against impossibly warm sepia skin, and he slowly drifted over, finding himself again wishing that he could record photographs simply through mind's eye, capturing subtle details that so often got lost during posed sessions. He smiled at the thought; it was unlikely that his boss would share his interest with the way her hair draped across her face. He maneuvered himself to where she could see him, and smiled as he waited for her to finish her conversation.