Cecil stepped into the elevator on the with his head down and not a glance at the face of the person already there. His concentration was on a stack of hand towels in his arms, all embroidered with a curly 9; he shifted them to one arm to press one of the buttons not often used, the one that went down to the laundry rooms. (Whoever was with him would, obviously, be getting off the elevator first.)
He stepped back against the wall to wait for the doors to shut and the clunk of the cables to announce that they were moving again. He couldn't help shooting a glance at the feet with which he was sharing the elevator - he didn't dare look up into his companion's face, but he was finding that you could tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wore. Were they sensible, were they high-heeled, were they scuffed, did they have the hem of what was unmistakably a white labcoat hanging above them--
--wait.
Cecil did not quite manage to strangle a soft gasp. He lifted his head to look, half-panicked, at-- at the door, not at Carlos (not at Carlos!), but they were already between floors-- there was no escape that way. And his only shield was an armful of towels.
D
He stepped back against the wall to wait for the doors to shut and the clunk of the cables to announce that they were moving again. He couldn't help shooting a glance at the feet with which he was sharing the elevator - he didn't dare look up into his companion's face, but he was finding that you could tell a lot about a person by the shoes they wore. Were they sensible, were they high-heeled, were they scuffed, did they have the hem of what was unmistakably a white labcoat hanging above them--
--wait.
Cecil did not quite manage to strangle a soft gasp. He lifted his head to look, half-panicked, at-- at the door, not at Carlos (not at Carlos!), but they were already between floors-- there was no escape that way. And his only shield was an armful of towels.