The Writers' Circle

Robert Tundish sat impatiently outside the glass faced library, some time had passed since his phone last rang and anxiety more than annoyance was causing a tick to develop in his leg, his foot tapped, no rhythm, just perplexing bursts of movement, a thousand tiny steps carrying his nerves on their immeasurable journey. His long heavy greatcoat was protecting his back and neck from the unwelcome shadow that had dropped itself lazily over the rooftops and now hung motionless, sprawled across the grey concrete courtyard. Despite the protection the coat offered however, an uncontrollable shudder managed to work its way up his spine sending his throat and neck into minute paroxysms. Robert tilted his head backwards and stared up at the sky, a sprawling grey mass, fringed with a foam of white cloud was slowly encroaching upon the open space in the sky above the library, down on the ground, the cloud was casting it's cold shadow, thin wispy fingers clawed at the remaining patches of warm golden light. Robert felt the temperature drop; a gentle wind blew cold air in through the open flaps of his coat; he shuddered again and rose. 

Three colleagues perched on the sandstone coloured concrete block, Lionel was slouching, his posture reflected the years he had spent sitting at desks in poorly made chairs; he didn't like conflict, he had never followed through on the request his friend had suggested for new chairs, he knew that if he appealed to the HR department, that the chairs were affecting his health, he could have new chairs within a month; but he didn't like the thought of stirring up trouble; he didn't like when people looked at him with disdain; he didn't like to, as he said, "upset the balance in the workplace, its delicate you know, you have to tread carefully". His shoulders sloped inwards and the curve of his back arched as he leant forward to utter a few words to Maria who sat at the opposite end of the bench. 
-     So, err, what was your Saturday and.how did you.
Lionel sighed at his incoherence; his train of thought was trundling along on diaphanous, uneven rails, fatigue and lethargy, too little momentum to remain steady and concentrated. Passengers, thoughts, luggage, all was being flung from the doors and windows as his cognition wavered, eventually the empty carriages trundled to a stop, spare, disconnected, useless. 
-      .sorry! Good weekend?
His stunted sentence seemed to flop out of his mouth, a deadweight of insecurity, a short-reaching question. The languorous speech dragged itself over his dry tongue and yellowing teeth, words falling short of their intentions, dragging with them as they fell, Lionel's listless gaze: his eyes sunk to his shoes, a curious distraction from ones insecurities. 
Maria paused and looked at Lionel, his rheumy eyes seemed to be weeping into the bags that hung heavy below his lids. His skin was pallid, more so than usual, and his countenance drooped listlessly from his face.
-	My weekend was fine thank you Lionel. Yours? Have you been sleeping badly?
Lionel considered her question, decided not to reflect negatively on her observation, and reclined a few inches; his back ached, stiff and cold, he considered Maria's question.
-	Yes.my back, its err. well my mattress is on the way out so its not making sleeping easy
Whilst the pair were conversing, Jonia, who was sat spare amidst the back and forth of awkward words, stared loathsomely at the hand that had sat on Lionel's knee, fidgeting constantly, scratching, clenching rubbing, it was driving her to distraction. She detested Lionel, she felt towards him an innate repugnance, she did not know exactly why she disliked him so much, she felt that it might be his lack of hygiene or general self-preservation, but traceable or not, her hatred of him was causing her to view his stuttering conversational inadequacy as a direct insult to her intelligence. Jonia curled her thin lip into a pleasing grimace and twisted her head towards Maria, her body formed a barrier between the two ends of the bench: offensive behaviour came easily to Jonia, she revelled in the mischief she caused and felt the warmth of Lionel's dejection upon her bare shoulders. 
-	So, Maria, how is it that we have been in this same office for three years and not once have we been out for lunch? I am certain, of all the HE representatives; you are the exception to the rule that we are.
Jonia paused, straightened her posture, raised her chin and stuck out her jaw in the direction of the fidgeting pallid man on her left 
-	.viscous, spiteful, and ever so malicious.
A thin smile spread across her face, sharpening her dark eyes.
-	Dreadfully, nice the lot of us really, you just have to.ask sensible questions. 
As the final drops of malice spilled from the corner of her mouth, Jonia rose, her back still to Lionel, she stretched out a hand to Maria.