Tokka - ConcilliabuleSokka's boot drummed on the wooden floor, an impatient staccato that pricked the quiet air like the point of a needle. He leaned against the wall behind him, listening to the chorus of clinking silverware and mindless chatter drift through a nearby doorway.
His breath whooshed out of him in a frustrated huff, his hands tugging at the folds of his formal Water Tribe garb for lack of anything better to do. On impulse, his neck craned to one side, then the other, his eyes roving both ends of the hall in hopes of catching a glimpse of something besides empty space. He'd done this so many times in the past few minutes, a bystander might've wondered if he had some sort of nervous tick.
Where in Spirits' name was she?
She was supposed to have met up with him fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen. Minutes. And he was still waiting.
Lucky for her he was such a nice guy. And that she was so cute, in her own abrasive way. Otherwise he probably would've given up and left about fourteen and a