[Teren takes a step forward, inspects Wren's face for a moment, resembling a bird looking for exactly the right place to peck. Then, without any warning, she grips Wren's chin with her left hand and uses the right to crack the offending nose back into place. Just as quickly, she steps away and folds her hands behind her back, looking very pleased with herself. It worked, like it always does.]
[ there are other things, the sort of things you say to someone who just fixed your face, and markedly less point to holding those in. it's not the most coherent or inventive string of expletives — but it's heartfelt. her fist bangs the table once, twice, ]
Happy, [ she grits, finally: ] Satinalia.
[ anyone who looks that smug just received a gift. ]
she catches herself before she says it aloud, lets her shoulders hunch; drop again. this isn't helping, isn't working. nothing she does lately seems to be fucking working, and none of that can afford to be confided. as though this were even an association for confidence.
(as though she knows much of teren, beyond absence. there have been glimpses — they have been few.) ]
You know my history with doors, [ her eyes shut, stay closed. ] Is that how you sought to woo the Captain?
[Teren's first inclination is to glare at her, but surprisingly after a moment she chuckles. Perhaps it's how pathetic Wren looks with her swollen nose and black eyes, or the shared history of doorway mishaps.]
Pardon, I did woo her. [That's a verified fact.] But no, this was a serpent wooing me.
So did I, until I found out the hard way. [She touches the patch, lightly, and winces.] ...perhaps until it stops looking so revolting, though I daresay most won't be able to tell the difference. [A tired, self-effacing smirk. Vanity has never been one of Teren's flaws, but it's easier to avoid it when one's face is relatively un-disfigured.]
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doneisdone) wrote2016-03-30 12:32 am
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[Teren takes a step forward, inspects Wren's face for a moment, resembling a bird looking for exactly the right place to peck. Then, without any warning, she grips Wren's chin with her left hand and uses the right to crack the offending nose back into place.
Just as quickly, she steps away and folds her hands behind her back, looking very pleased with herself. It worked, like it always does.]
no subject
Happy, [ she grits, finally: ] Satinalia.
[ anyone who looks that smug just received a gift. ]
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Oh, is it that time already. [She sighs, seemingly mindless to the fact that Wren might be displeased as she turns and taps her chin in thought.]
I imagine you'll want to say so to the person who gave you that in the first place. Perhaps they'll refrain from doing it again.
no subject
she catches herself before she says it aloud, lets her shoulders hunch; drop again. this isn't helping, isn't working. nothing she does lately seems to be fucking working, and none of that can afford to be confided. as though this were even an association for confidence.
(as though she knows much of teren, beyond absence. there have been glimpses — they have been few.) ]
You know my history with doors, [ her eyes shut, stay closed. ] Is that how you sought to woo the Captain?
[ by running into a door eye-first ]
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Pardon, I did woo her. [That's a verified fact.] But no, this was a serpent wooing me.
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I always thought the bloody things were stories. [ the crack of an eyelid: ] Cannot leave any heroics for the rest of us, can you.
How long are you leaving that on?
[ the cloth ]
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[ it's, perhaps, a touch too affectionate. better to pull back: verbally, and literally, in the creak of her shoulders.
]
We ought to see about getting you something proper. That fabric won't last.
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It serves its purpose. And there's more fabric where that came from. But I digress. [She gestures around.] What's the occasion?