A/N: That whole, three updates in five days thing may be ambitious, but we're two-thirds of the way there. I don't want to say anything else about the story, but I can't wait to read some other one-shots for the prompt! Okay I lied. I will say something else: the locations described and items in the Museum are used fictitiously, but draw very closely on personal experiences and visits to the places described (it helps when you find three-year old pictures on your computer to help jog your memory).
Prompt: Character A works at a museum, Character B goes to the museum a lot during free time. Character B starts to notice that Character A follows from exhibit to exhibit...
The feeling first tickled her like an unruly shirt tag in front of a display housing three intimately detailed, carved models of tall ships and one small wooden casket from the Sixteenth Century. At first, she chalked it up to the disconcerting notion of looking at the alleged wrist bones of one of history's most influential explorers. But the likelihood of the unease originating with the relic dissipated as she moved around the cavernous gallery, peering at the intricacies of the model ships: the details in the wood carving of the hull, sloping gracefully from keel to rail; the taught twine of the rigging; the billowing sails, cream-colored and pure or stitched with red and blue crosses.
It wasn't until she found herself stood in front of a case with several pieces of rare blue-and-white phoenix-motiffed dinnerware from the Ming Dynasty that the feeling returned, scratching in warning of something—or someone—paying far too close attention to her ambling through the Museu da Marinha. The young woman shifted slightly, a futile attempt at divining a face to go with the mystery follower from a reflection in the glass; the dimly lit gallery lighting thwarted her effort. Growling softly, she moved around the case and continued her slow progression through the exhibit.
A massive oil painting drew her attention away from her follower. Hung next to a epauletted naval uniform, the exquisitely detailed painting dominated an entire wall of the hall. Two fleets of sail ships converged on one another; cannon fire splashed harmlessly into water in the foreground—and smashed violently into opposing galleys in the middle and background. Smoke squalled over the scene, its various shades of grey shrouding several of the ships as unseen flames licked at wooden weatherdecks.
"It's the Battle of Trafalgar," a voice called out in measured, nonthreatening tones—almost as if attempting to be cordial while simultaneously recognizing most visitors do not expect strangers to randomly call out in public places. She turned around at the unsolicited interruption, finding a young woman, about her age, wearing the Museum's uniform standing a few feet from her, staring up at the painting; whether the interest was feigned or genuine, the visitor couldn't immediately discern. The docent smiled to herself before aiming the smile and a pair of Arctic blue eyes at the visitor. "One of the most famous naval battles in history, between the British Royal Navy and the combined fleets of the French and Spanish."
The visitor arched an eyebrow, noncommittal, but acknowledging the docent's presence, whose name tag read 'Naomi C.' with a Union Jack next to it. She briefly peered back up at the canvas and its thick golden filigreed frame before slowly walking away. She left the docent mouth agape, looking from the picture to the vacated spot in front of it. Giving a cursory look at several ship models that stood at least four feet in height from keel to masthead, the woman departed the hall.
The next gallery, with its large windows on both walls and cream tiles, contrasted starkly with the dim lights and thick carpet of the hall she'd just departed. Figureheads from the Age of Sail stood sentinel along the walls; helms as tall as she was littered the space between more glass cases of ship models. One case caught her eye in a macabre sort of fashion. The visitor leaned in closer, her nose millimeters from the glass. Three frigates seemed to gleam in the light, sailing towards the doorway at the far end of the hall; yet, they did not seem to be models made of wood. It was almost like they were—
"I see you found the bone models." The visitor blinked, refocusing through the case to find Naomi standing opposite, peering into it, just as fascinated by the disturbingly beautiful artistry. The docent continued unbidden. "During the Napoleonic Wars, prisoners of war would make models of ships out of any bone they could get their hands on—whale baleen, cattle bone...uh, human bone—anyway, the models were incredibly detailed and highly desired by collectors at the time."
The visitor smirked and, without breaking eye contact, tapped on the glass, pointing at the corner of the display. "Do you have all the plaques memorized, or am I just incredibly unlucky?"
Naomi blushed instantly, but quelled it just as soon as she could. "You're just luck, I guess."
"That's not what I said," the woman stood, walking around the bone model case. She looked thoughtfully at the smooth hull of the largest of the three models as she stepped around the corner; Naomi mirrored her movements. "Any other exhibits I should make sure to see before I leave? Preferably self-guided ones...?"
"Well, you could always check out Pasteis de Belem; if you haven't had a chance while you're in town."
The young woman gave Naomi a perturbed look. "Do I look like a tourist seeking out some natas? And that's most definitely not an exhibit in your museum."
"Do I look like your typical Portuguese museum docent?"
The visitor began walking for the exit. "I tend to not assume things based on someone's appearance."
Naomi bristled at the sharp retort, though she couldn't deny the exhilarating thrill it gave her, someone countering her snark with equal fervor. "Touché. Well...enjoy your visit to the Museum."
The museum visitor reached the door to the entry hall and paused, looking back down the gallery towards the bone models, where Naomi still stood awkwardly. "Were you coming to Pasteis with me, or not?"
The blonde docent blinked. "I don't get off work for another two hours. You could check out the Padrão—right, not a tourist."
"Very good," the visitor teased. "But I actually just enjoy sitting in the Jardims—people watching is like going to a nature preserve, except it's free...and people are far more fascinating than animals."
"More unpredictable, certainly." She nodded in assent and turned around, taking a step towards the first hall when a paralyzing thought struck. Wheeling, she blurted: "Wait, what's—"
Her fear was misplaced: the visitor hadn't budged. Instead, she wore a final smirk, secure in her anticipation that Naomi would make one last inquiry; she interrupted smoothly, "It's Effy."