It was still light out in the strictest of senses, but it had faded to a low glow on the horizon. Rosa knew she didn't have much time, but she'd been waiting for this exact sort of haze to shade in her sketch properly.
She sat on the cool granite of a bench near the edge of the Graceland Cemetary, chewing on the end of her artist pencil now and again. It wasn't a very lively spot, but that was for the best. Fewer people walking past the tombs she was trying to get down that way.
"Little girls shouldn't spend time in cemeteries alone at night."
The voice comes from the shadows of a nearby mausoleum. Looking closely, one might see the barest hint of the outline of the man in a leather duster and hat.
"I spend nearly ten hours a day sitting. Now's my time to stand. Besides, if I stop lurking in the shadows, Maeve might step out of the shadows and recruit me."
He peers at her out of the corner of his eye, while keeping an eye on the rest of the cemetery - he's not taking chances, nasty things tend to come out at night.
"You're the one who thinks that I need to date other people."
A bit of a smile. "I don't really see why, still. The men that I know are you, Harry, Michael and Brian. Brian is ... not interested, Michael is married, and you know the others." There was also Thomas.
"You don't know? You don't know if you want to kiss me or not? That's a new one."
In his experience, most people have a thought one way or the other. Though, he does meet the ocassional one who can't decide between kissing and hitting - in those cases, he tries to take point.
He stands and holds a recently-gloved hand out to her. "Come then, let us away. It's well after dark, getting late and I believe you've been told to stay inside after dark. It's not safe in this town for pretty young girls at night."
I don't typically bring this thing to work with me - because I suck - but lately, work's been slow, so I brought it along. Yes, my therapist suggested I play the guitar to help my damaged hand. So far, I'm not sure it's working.
I know I'm not getting any better at playing. I've seen cockroaches run away from the sound.
Okay, so it's not really that bad, but it's not Jimi Hendrix either.
The fact that there was music coming from Harry's Office made her feel a little less bad about dropping in during his work hours.
But ... well, she didn't really have a reason. It sounded like guitar - she liked guitar. Some of the younger boys had tried to teach her and it had at least helped her a little -- and one of the cute country boys had helped her get half-decent at a few quicker tunes.
She knocked on the doorframe and then peeked her head in, wondering who was playing the guitar.