Plourr watches his struggle for balance (he nearly falls; she notes with a certain vindictive swell that she hasn't lost her touch) and heavy stagger with that wild look still in her eyes, her jaw jutting furiously.
Rial's expression is impossible to read. Plourr is absolutely transparent.
Her eyes are snapping when they meet his; she doesn't react to the use of her title, to the bow, besides a curl of her lip. She debates telling him to go on and run, run like he always does, to go to hell, but in the end -- she watches him go without comment. Her fist spoke for her.
When the door closes, she shakes her hand out (two of her fingers hurt like a bitch) with a loose wrist.
She gives it fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds for him to get down the hall; fifteen seconds for her to slam across the room and will herself out of fight mode.
She hasn't quite managed it by the time she flings the door open. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd get your asses back in here, it'd be appreciated.
no subject
Rial's expression is impossible to read. Plourr is absolutely transparent.
Her eyes are snapping when they meet his; she doesn't react to the use of her title, to the bow, besides a curl of her lip. She debates telling him to go on and run, run like he always does, to go to hell, but in the end -- she watches him go without comment. Her fist spoke for her.
When the door closes, she shakes her hand out (two of her fingers hurt like a bitch) with a loose wrist.
She gives it fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds for him to get down the hall; fifteen seconds for her to slam across the room and will herself out of fight mode.
She hasn't quite managed it by the time she flings the door open. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'd get your asses back in here, it'd be appreciated.
"Today would be nice."