Logs:Cool and Collected
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| RL Date: 14 December, 2014 |
| Who: Quinlys, Telavi |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: After R'hin, silliness ensues. |
| Where: Weyrlingmaster's Office, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 14, Month 7, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Jadzia/Mentions, Meara/Mentions, Mielline/Mentions, R'hin/Mentions, Satiet/Mentions |
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| "It's me," that's Tela, a stride or two before she darkens her weyrlingmaster's threshold; what's her boss doing indoors on a day like this anyway?! "Quinlys? I--" "Tela?" Quinlys is lazing back in her chair, one (bare) foot dangling over the side of it, toes pointed. She straightens - sort of straightens - as the greenrider enters, blue eyes tracking her assistant. "Pull up a chair." Telavi does pull up a chair, all obediently, even if she does use it like a jungle gym: turned around with one knee on its seat, the greenrider herself draped over its back, braids falling forward with her lean. "Tell me you're doing something really exciting and-or important," or else Tela's going to start talking. Talking more. "Drafting my resignation," says Quinlys, so promptly and so without laughter that she could almost - for a moment - be mistaken for seriousness... only then she grins, gesturing vaguely around the table, and her foot. It's all very serious work, clearly. Clearly. Blue-today eyes narrow-- just for that moment-- and then Tela huffs. "Don't you dare." That doesn't mean that she doesn't inspect Quinlys' foot: has she buffed lately? How are her nails? All that's clearly important too. Surely it goes without saying that Quinlys' toes are immaculate, and her calluses (if indeed such things would dare to form) buffed away to nothing! Her toes wiggle under the inspection as, graciously, Quinlys promises, "Not this time. Not when I'm so close to my vacation." Fingertips-- also nicely shaped, thank you!-- dance their way towards those toes, teasing rather than intent; "Mm, vacation," Tela sighs. Except, "R'hin is awful." Quinlys' toes wiggle out of the way: flee the impending fingertip attack! Flee! "R'hin," repeats Quinlys, dramatically. "Well, that's not news, is it?" Tela's fingertips dance a victory dance! "Well, no," Telavi will admit, gaze drifting to their drumming before returning to Quinlys. "It's just that afterward I think that maybe I should have been all cool and collected and let his antics roll off my back but no, of course then it's too late," sigh! Quinlys' toes: defiant. "Oh, well, that's perfectly normal," decides their owner, with a laugh. "It's R'hin. I don't think anyone ever gets the better of him. I mean, according to legend Satiet did, but..." That's all before Quinlys' time; it's hard to believe. Those toes can be defiant all they like; the tapping continues to claim the territory the toes surrendered. Hurrah! "But--" Tela begins, only to quickly assure, "It's not like that. Just, maybe we," 'we,' as though Quinlys is in on this too, "don't have to give him quite so much of a reaction." Her brows lift: yes? no? Maybe? "You just can't help yourself around him, can you?" It's teasing; smugly so. "Blush, blush, blush!" Tela pouts at her, she does, even if her cheeks do also pinken when the blush is invoked like that; "To be fair," she says, "it's not as though I make a habit of the rolling-off bit, exactly. Should I? I could practice on you." "Well," says Quinlys, generously, "you could try." Those lashes of hers flutter, good-naturedly. At which point Telavi-- giggles. That makes Quinlys sit up straight, drawing her foot back to the floor, toes (defiant as ever) now hidden by the table. "You're not even trying!" she accuses. "Oh, Telavi." At least Telavi doesn't seem to try to claim the floor; Quinlys, and her toes, can have it. "But it's more fun not to," she sighs. Clearly, the fun is all Quinlys' fault. With a toss of her hair over her shoulder, Quinlys just grins. "Cheer up," she says. "Not long, now, before you'll be out of my hair-- or is it that I'll be out of yours?-- and all his, at least for a few months. Longer, probably." Round eyes, woebegone eyes. "He said," Telavi says, "Jadzia replaced me." Even if he didn't quite. If Quinlys were drunk right now, it would be one of those great, slurring pronouncements. As it is, Quinlys simply sounds dismissive: "Nobody," she says, "could ever replace you." "I love you," Telavi says admiringly. Though, speaking of sweeping-if-not-slurring pronouncements, Tela's also claimed that she loves a bartender's concoction of the moment in much the same tone. "See? But he insists on teasing me, which is not fair." "I know." Quinlys' smile is generous - broad and bright and delightedly confident. "But of course he teases you. You leave yourself open to it. Cheer up; it means he likes you." More pouting. "Maybe I shouldn't," Tela says. "There's worse, Quinlys." She leans further, all but onto the table. "Worse." "Worse," repeats Quinlys. "My goodness. What is it?" "He threatened to give me to Mielline," is Telavi's latest exaggeration. Quinlys places both hands flat upon the table, and leans forward. "Telavi," she says, seriously (well... semi-seriously), "I would never let that happen." No? "Who would you give me to?" Telavi wants to know. Is there a fate that's worse than Mielline?! Quinlys ponders, tapping one finger against her mouth. "Aurora? Hailstorm? There are so many options-- think of the power!" So mean. In fact, "That is mean," Telavi declares. And she knows from mean! In answer, Quinlys sticks out her tongue... and then begins to laugh. "I'm sorry," she says. "I'm no better than he is, am I?" "I don't know about that," Telavi says with a dimple, not to mention a dulcet look through her lashes. "I love you too," is Quinlys' answer to that, merrily unperturbed. "Well... that's fine, then," and there's dimple number two. Telavi sighs. She sighs, and smiles at Quinlys. "I feel better." The sigh just makes Quinlys beam; the smile only encourages it. "Well, I'm glad. Do you need a cookie before you go?" "I do." While she's at it, "It's a good thing he couldn't hear us talking about him." Undoubtedly, implies Telavi's tone, R'hin would like that much too much. "It's a pity I'm not Meara with a regular stash, then," says Quinlys, who does look into the cookie jar just in case... but no luck. Empty! So sad. "A very good thing. I won't tell him, though, I promise." So sad. Tela narrows her eyes at her, accusing, "Tease. Just for that, I-- may get you a refill." Maybe. Certainly she starts tipping back, the lean drawing her fingers back like nails across a very silent chalkboard. "Just... bargain well, all right?" Maybe. Quinlys' brows arch, and then she smiles. "'Maybe.' Well - we'll see, won't we? We'll do our best." Telavi winds up smiling too. As for those cookies? They'll show up, caramel. |
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