[Log] Doughnuts and Nail Polish
Who: Tiriana, Yuliye
When: Day 3, Month 5, Turn 19
Where: Tiriana and Iovniath's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr
What: Yuliye makes herself at home. They talk sex. A lot.
Notes: God, finally done. Also, seriously backdated.
Yuliye, the Cromese Interloper, has kept a respectable distance from the Reachian leadership for over two weeks. Of course, Crom's letter of condolences arrived through all the usual channels for Tiriana to peruse, but the emissary herself has kept to her room: out of sight, out of mind, perhaps? But two weeks is enough time for anyone to mourn and, at least in Yuliye's mind, time enough past to finally make a visit. Carrying two stacked wooden boxes in both hands and a bottle of something or other under her other arm, the pretty brunette climbs the stairs up from the bowl, past the glance-garnering empty Weyrleaders' weyrs, and then clatters her pretty heels down the tunnel to stand just shy of Tiriana's weyr. "Hallooooooooo in there?" No, not terribly respectful.
From within the weyr are a couple of thuds that sound not particularly promising, along with a couple of curses; and Tiriana, when she finally gets to the door is shooting glowers backward at her couch and rubbing her hip. "Hello? --It's you," she says, blinking as she turns about to look at Yuliye then. "You... We were just talking about you." Pause. "Not us, here, now--there's nobody here now--but the other day. Do you want something?" Confusion touches her expression.
Each thud elicits the tiniest wince from Yuliye's face, as if she might be imagining the most horrible fate within the walls that Tiriana might be suffering. So when the acting Weyrwoman appears, the bright smile that suddenly surfaces paired with big-wide eyes of relief are genuine -- that is until the goldrider mentions Yuliye as the subject of some discussion and those big eyes of relief blink in blank succession until they're quizzical. But nonetheless! Curiosity is quick to disappear as she gives off a one-shouldered shrug and floats in past Tiriana. "I brought drink, food, and polish for our nails. Where's your baths?"
"Um," Tiriana begins, ever intelligent, as Yuliye breezes past her. "That way?" And she points toward the back, as though she's not particularly sure herself. With a quick shake of her head, she takes off, trotting a few steps to head the holder off. "Wait, what are you doing here, exactly? /Nail/ polish?" Like there's another kind.
Without Tiriana's guidance, Yuliye follows her nose, as any girl expert in the vagaries of cosmetics might, towards the sweet smell of sandstone and bath products with long strides and instead of answering *any* of the goldrider's questions, the floaty soprano instead calls back, "Well, are you coming?" In the mean time, she'll just set up shop here: putting down the wine on the stone ledge of the bath and setting the top wooden box by it. It's the second box that's unclasped first, opened, and set on the floor, the assortment of bright shades ranging from more traditional colors to outlandish ones in small, carefully cared for vials. Then, and only then does Yuliye kick off her kid slippers and flex her tiny little toes.
More and more bewildered as this one girl manages to completely take over her own weyr, Tiriana tracks afer Yuliye and stops by her bath. "Do you normally do this? Just waltz in and make yourself at home? You do, don't you," she answers her own question, since Yuliye isn't doing much of that herself. But the little vials have her curious, and Tiriana leans over to pick up one and turn it over. "Never understood this, I don't think. It all chips off so fast when you're--well, you wouldn't know about working."
For a holder girl, Yuliye is exceedingly comfortable in her own skin it would seem. She's shed the outer layers of her dress until she's standing there in pantaloons now bunched and tied above her knees with their pretty blue ribbons and a chemise. Working? Big eyes blink innocently up at Tiriana, her mouth working itself to repeat that word, however silent. /Working/? "It doesn't matter," is what she finally decides to say, climbing over the bath's wall so she might sit on the edge and drop her feet into the heated pool. "My mama always did this with me when everything seemed so terrible in life and it makes me feel better." Thus, it will make Tiriana feel better too, and if not, the wine that Yuliye now uncorks will. "To friendships! Hear, hear." Toast and agreement all in one is then cemented with a swig back before she offers the bottle to her /friend/.
Tiriana takes the bottle, and she takes a long drink--looks like she's going to need it tonight. Then she slides down on the edge of the tub herself, eyeing Yuliye's pantaloons. "Those things," she declares, "should be burned. They are not attractive at all. My family kept me away from anything paint...y. I painted dirty words outside the Weyrwoman's weyr once. Took years to get the F-U-backwards-K-U off."
Simply; "Why?" Simply is backed by owlishly large eyes. She looks down on her puffy leggings trimmed in lace and blue ribbons from as many angles as possible while seated like this. "They're comfortable. They keep me decent." Until she's shedding those too, but that's another story. "And most people never see them." Until she's taking off her clothes, but semantics! "I also broooooought," the vowels drawl out to match how she streeeetches to grab that first, unopened, wooden box. Inside is an assortment of fancily decorated doughnuts. "What color do you want?" Cakes or polish? And is Tiriana speaking loud enough?
"If anybody ever sees them, that's too many," is Tiriana's verdict. "And /I'm/ seeing them now." But then there's food, and who cares about Yuliye's crazy-ass underwear when she could have doughnuts. Tiriana plucks one out of the box and takes a bite, nose wrinkling as she tries to catch the crumbs and not get them in the polish-box that she's now leaning over again. "Doughnuts and wine, really? You holders--" But then there are bright colors and she's thoroughly distracted between frowning over them and munching her doughnut. "I don't know, which one do you like? I like that red one, I think."
Score! At least there's more than one way to score in Yuliye's world, this being one of those platonic successes. A smile of sunshine and warmth flashes at Tiriana just a second before the Cromese woman is fishing out her own doughnut, hers covered in white powder and when bitten into, filled with rainbow colored confetti candies. "I'm painting mine that blue there. No, not that one. /That/ one." As if verbal emphasis makes all the difference. Her description of, "The pretty sparkly blue one that looks like spring," said around dainty mouthfuls of doughnut, does not make it any easier.
Confetti! Tiriana just eyes it, then her own doughnut as though it's going to explode; but the only thing she finds in there is jam that starts trying to ooze out on her fingers. They, in turn, get licked off in a move that would make an etiquette teacher cringe, before she picks up the blue pointed out, holds it up to the light to see its color better. "It's pretty--I like blue. It is very... girlish, though. It suits /you/, I guess, but me? I'm a Weyrwoman, not some silly little holder girl."
The smile Yuliye secrets for Tiriana is an indulgent one, and should the goldrider mean to strike at the 'silly little holder girl,' it fails to penetrate the bubble of the Crom woman's sunshine. Though she doesn't take very large bites, quick successions of tiny, girlish bites leads to the quicker dispatch of one round doughnut and her own finger tips are licked free of the white powder. It's all toasted, again, with a long swig of wine. "Heyhey," the bottle is lifted, the top of it eyed. "Bet half the guys in this Weyr would just die seeing us do this. I mean, we're practically kissing if you put your mouth where mine was. The other half's probably gay. Need some more?" Wine. Not gay.
Tiriana reaches for the wine again to wash down that sticky doughnut, and then she eyes the bottle too. "I don't think it really counts," she notes. "Otherwise I've kissed a lot of people. I mean, not that I haven't anyway, but a lot more." She shakes her head, moves on from that thought. "I think even the gay ones would like to watch, though. I think all guys have to dream about two girls going at it, even them, right?" Then, a pause. "Are you hitting on me? Because--" And suddenly Yuliye is regarded very suspiciously.
Yuliye makes fishy lips at the Weyrwoman, eyes closed and all wrinkly for the glee sketched all over her face. "What?" Suddenly, she draws back and trains a speculative look on Tiriana. "Darling, if I were hitting on you, you wouldn't have to ask. Besides," her eyes drop to that box to pluck out a nice buttery yellow, and she continues absently, "You're hardly my type, baby T. Here. This will suit you. It's almost gold like your dragon's hide." Nicknames, color picking, and acting like she knows her all in the short span of ten minutes, plus a scant hand full of encounters; Yuliye's bright openness has no off switch it seems. "My feet are pruning," and so they're drawn out and she pivots on her bottom so she can rest her heels on the bath's edge as well.
Defensively, Tiriana shrugs. "Just asking," she answers. "Sometimes you just can't tell. Even if you /are/ a holder and all. Bet Crom wouldn't like that, if his niece went after the Weyrwoman, though." The thought of it's enough to make her smirk, though, and she leans in to study the yellow Yuliye picks out. "Yellow, really?" Skeptically, she glances from the polish to the girl, before her eyes unfocus for that half-second of draconic communication. "Iovniath doesn't agree. So let's do it," she declares.
It's the moment of truth, this pause which Yuliye's learned is significant in draconic-rider communications, and for a the splitest of seconds, the doll-like features look a little anxious. But anxiety is dissolved in an instant with Tiriana's ornery announcement and a bubbly laughter echoes within the walls of the bath chamber. "/Lord/ Crom," even in girlish banter, she's not above placing such emphasis on her uncle's title, "Merely wants me to be happy. But I'm pretty sure he'd draw the line at making a move on you. Now that Weyrleader of yours," those delicate brows arc up, near waggling, "He's such a dish. Well, the old one. The new ones a little old and fat." She busies herself while talking, reaching for the blue polish and twisting the cap off so she might expertly make three swipes per nail.
"Give N'thei a few turns," Tiriana says, "and he'll be gross, too. Beer belly and all those scars and just... not pretty at all." Not that N'thei's goal is being pretty, but. Tiriana makes a face, anyway, adds, "We'll make sure the next one, the one that catches Iovniath, is decent-looking. She'd probably like some boring old guy like F'rint--you know, experienced and dependable and all that. But I'm putting me foot down on the ugly ones, because I am not having even flight-sex with some dirty old man." And she nods, firmly, and while Yuliye swipes polish onto her nails, Tiriana swipes another doughnut instead.
One hand done. Second hand a little less expert. Yuliye is not ambidextrous, but she /can/ multi-task: paint nails while listening and making intermittent mmhmm sounds of agreement. "It's not all about looks you know. Sometimes you just want... you just want a man that'll throw you against a wall and make you feel alive." There's a beat that gets lost there, with Yuliye's eyes growing vacant with thoughts of such a fantasy. Or something that does not quite agree if that pressed lip line means anything that is nonetheless shook away with a toss of her pretty curls. "You holding up ok?" It's the first time any serious subject is broached, still backed by that air of flighty sweetness that just radiates from the Crom woman.
Tiriana's brows lift at Yuliye's words, surprise evident. Blinking, she recovers enough to note, "There's good-looking ones that'll do that to you, too, you know." Beat. "Really? I mean, not really-there-are-ones-like-that, but really, you'd do something like that? Aren't you holder girls supposed to be... I don't know. Get married and do missionary with that one guy for the next sixty years?" Her eyes narrow as she studies Yuliye, but the inspection's cut short by her glance away at the latter question. "I'm fine. Busy, mostly, lots of stuff to do, but between me and Milani and Lujayn, and F'rint with the wings, we're fine. It's not like I don't know what I'm doing."
Yuliye has long since moved on from her brief venture into sharing-fantasies-land, and so when what Tiriana says finally penetrates her bubble, it garners several blinks that end in shiny eyes framed by those long, thick lashes; doll-like. "What do you think?" she asks instead, holding out her polished nails for Tiriana's inspection, only long enough before she's wiggling her fingers in the air to dry. "I'm hoping to match it with this blue dress I'm hoping to wear tomorrow. If your laundresses don't mess up getting it cleaned." The goldrider's unpolished nails gain a brief glance over. "Do you want me to do your nails? You can eat more doughnuts and tell me all about what it takes to run a Weyr."
"I think maybe you wo--huh?" Tiriana's not so easily distracted, and her appraisal of Yuliye is cut short by the realization that other girl is talking about her nails. "Oh. They look fine," which makes her glance down at her own nails: unremarkable, maybe, but at least not bitten or filthy. "All right. You do it, then," she says, and extends one of her hands to the other girl. And she steals another doughnut in the meantime, one of those Yu-ish powdery ones.
In one of her cool hands, held by just Tiriana's finger tips with her index finger lifted to support the goldrider's palm, Yuliye observes these unremarkable hands and apparently decides unremarkable just won't do. The tray the vials of color sit on is lifted in a quick lean over, and from beneath it, the Crom girl removes a jar of moisturizing cream. Slathering it between her hands and then all over Tiriana's, she begins conversing again, a little earnest in that sweet voice of hers. "I was married once." If the Weyrwoman won't talk about what it takes to run a Weyr, she'll at least volunteer some information instant-just-add-water friends should know about each other.
The goopy moisturizer that ends up on Tiriana's hands earns a dubious glance from the goldrider, but she doesn't say anything, about it at least. Instead, shocked: "You were /married/?" Tiriana just stares at Yuliye, mouth open. "Aren't you, like, my age? And you're married. You /were/ married," she corrects. "What'd you do, kill 'im? That why Crom sent you away?" Pause. "Did he /not/ throw you up against a wall or something? Because I think that'd be grounds for ditching him."
For hands that don't work, Yuliye is far too adept with them in the arts of massaging, working out the various cramps and tensions that might exist there, particularly with her thumbs against Tiriana's palm. "Mmmmmm," is what she says in return, the throaty sound non-committal as she slathers more lotion over her hands and returns to pushing the goldrider's hand skin every which direction. But beneath those lashes, a wicked glint glitters in the Crom woman's eyes, visible in her upward glance to the other brunette. "Let's just say, missionary for marriage and-," there's a one-shouldered shrug and dimpled smile, "Other means holder girls find to get their rocks off." Such language for such a pretty mouth. "He died, a few years ago. I got married when I was eighteen, which was pretty old given my cousins were married off at fifteen."
The confession makes Tiriana's mouth spread into a smirk in turn, and she leans back to munch her doughnut while Yuliye works on her hands. Somebody could get used to this Weyrwomanly pampering. "What'd he die of?" she wonders, head tilting. "Did you actually /want/ to marry this guy or...? You holders, you let your families whore you out for whoever's the best connected, don't you." Tiriana, singlehandedly perpetuating every stereotype in the book.
/That/ pauses Yuliye's adept hands, the pressure of her thumbs suddenly meant to sharply induce pain rather than relaxation. "Sorry," is her immediate unapologetic apology, backed by a small grimace as her fingers relent. She doesn't deny the truth of the stereotypes Tiriana states per se, but hedges with a deliberately lighthearted, "If that were completely true, wouldn't Lord Aughan have married me off again by now?" And yet, here she is, administrating to Tiriana's every manicure need with a bright, innocent smile on her face. "Tell me how a new Weyrleader is picked? Is it any bronzerider you desire?"
Tiriana grimaces, but only for a moment; either she takes the apology as genuine or decides to let it go at least. "Maybe you're no use anymore, I don't know. I don't know how it works; my family's mostly Weyrfolk. And the ones that aren't, they're all nobodies anyway, so." She shrugs, takes another bite of doughnut. Then, "Technically. /Technically/ it's any bronze that catches Iovniath. But--" and she leans in, lowers her voice just a hair like she's conveying some deep state secret "--us, we've got a plan. Going to pick the one that's best for the job and then make /sure/ he wins."
There's only one, innocently lilting query. She's truly curious. "N'thei?" Then, a little more genuine, a little more wickedly delighted as she reaches for a hand towel to rub Tiriana's hands dry and smooth. "Will this pick of yours be the throw you against the wall type?"
Tiriana snorts. "I wish," she answers, with a shake of her head. "He's run off to Faranth knows where and we are not going chasing after him. He can fuck himself, far as I'm concerned." It makes her scowl up, just thinking about the Weyr's erstwhile Weyrleader, and the latter question earns only a shrug at first. "During the flight, maybe. It gets all mixed up during flights. But outside of that? I'm weyrmated, you know. Got a weyrmate that throws me up against plenty of walls--don't need some random bronzerider that'll probably be disgustingly old if Iovniath has /her/ way."
There's the tiniest shudder of sympathetic revulsion no doubt for Tiriana's plight. "My dead husband," and boy does that sound mournful, "Was young at least. We were married a half year before he passed away." She talks while she paints, having untwisted that top and brushing Tiriana's nails with that buttery candy yellow, eyecatching if only in its high-gloss factor. "Thankfully no children, which is why I was able to return home and wasn't stuck in..." Her mouth slams shut and looks just the slightest bit guilty at the bath's entrance and around the room. "It didn't matter anyway in the long run. The title of heir passed from him to his younger brother anyway. He was," she considers, head tilting back so those pretty, dark curls fall down the length of her back. "I think he was my third cousin through my mother? It doesn't matter."
Leaning over to watch Yuliye paint, Tiriana twists her mouth unhappily. "Yeah, but it's just a flight," she says, even if she can't quite hide her displeasure with the prospect of dirty old men in her bed. "Doesn't /mean/ anything. And I'll throw his ass out right after and then we don't have to have anything to do with each other again. Outside of the Weyrleadering thing. Stuck in...?" Tactless, she queries on the end of that unfinished statement. At least, with her own burst of that sympathetic revulsion, she shudders. "Children."
"Children," agrees the early twenty-something to her like-minded companion. "There!" Pride supercedes answering tactless questions and Yuliye blows lightly across Tiriana's now very candy yellow nails. Even as she asks, "Like it?" she reaches for the woman's other, doughnut chomping hand. "So dragonriders really do have to have sex with each other if their dragons mate? It's not some excuse?" What could be such a pointedly ignorant question (and well, is actually), when said with Yuliye's bright rainbows-and-unicorns curiosity takes on a whole different dimension: bubblehead - bubbleheaded and actually uncertain. What /do/ they teach girls at Crom?
Tiriana holds up her fingers, inspecting them in their bright yellowness. "Oh, it is pretty. Weird-looking, though, but pretty," she says. The last bite of her doughnut is stuffed in her mouth then, so she can wash her hand off and then extend it for Yuliye, too, with a pitying look for the girl's ignorance-- not that Tiriana herself hasn't displayed just as much already tonight. "It's not just an excuse," she says. "You really end up having sex with them, no way around it. Supposed to be all kinds of... not you doing it, thinking about it or whatever. I don't know; you see a lot of them, the flight-lost people during, them all beat up afterward. But it's--different, when it's you." She frowns, and while she keeps her hand out for the holder, her eyes slip back toward the ledge and her gold upon it. A shake of her head dismisses that, though. "We're weyrfolk, anyway--we don't generally need an excuse. Most of us."
How envious Yuliye seems. How bright those eyes are in their owlishly huge blinks and long lashes, as she absorbs what Tiriana says and for the goldrider's last, there's a bubbling laughter. "Right, weyrfolk don't need excuses." The newly cleaned off hand in front of her undergoes the same sort of treatment of lotions rubbed in and a nice little massage to match. "Tell me about the flight-lost people. What do you mean by that?"
"The flight-lost people," Tiriana says, and blows out a breath. "You've seen them, you have to have. Stumbling around the guest weyrs with glazed eyes and a hard-on 'cause their dragon's chasing? The ones that lose are the worst--they end up back in the caverns feeling up anybody that stands still for them." Suspiciously, she glances to Yuliye; she has seen those guys, right?
Has Yuliye seen those guys? Not that those wide-eyes of innocence seem to convey as her head lifts from administering lotion to Tiriana's other hand. Her own hands loosen, her grip tenuous, and her mouth falls slack as she, momentarily, seems appalled by what the goldrider says. "Have yo...." No, definitely wrong track, the negation evidenced by a sharp shake of the Crom woman's head. Instead, ever so nonchalantly; "So if guys have hard-ons and glazed eyes, are the girls' panties wet and do they grope and feel up everyone too?" There's a smile hovering about her mouth, waiting for Tiriana's reaction before it might blossom further.
Tiriana just eyes Yuliye, somewhere between suspicious and puzzled by that reaction. "Well, yeah. It pretty much goes for either sex," she says slowly, dubiously. "You... haven't noticed them? Really? They're pretty good for a quick fuck, if that's all you're after but... Well. I tried one of them once, after this one gold flight, and it sucked. Guy had a mustache." She shudders, mimes gagging in between bites of her own doughnut.
This second hand is finished with a lot more alacrity than the first, the final blowing across coming shortly after Tiriana makes gagging noises around her doughnut. It elicits a girlish giggle from Yuliye, her dark head of curls bending to kiss the back of the hand, like a vassal to his liege, or in this case her liege. "My mother does that for me whenever we polish our nails together. Then she kisses the back of my hands and says we are ready, at last, to present ourselves out in public as ladies." Never mind they'd just spend the last thirty or so minutes discussing sex, sex, and more sex, the subject of her mom settles in the emptiness post-sex nicely. And then it's sex again. A thoughtful question in regards to sex. "Do you think boys who are flight lost remember anything about it? Like who they're with or anything? Have you remembered anything after she rises?"
"My mama never did anything like this with me," Tiriana notes, nose wrinkling. She eyes the hand-kissing and then draws her fingers back in to inspect that hand, too. "Then again, I was just seven when she died, but... I still don't think she'd of done anything like this with me." Her shoulders lift, and she sets her hands down very carefully on the tub's edge, so as to not smudge the polish. "Think it's kind of like being really drunk, when you're coming off it. Tend not to so much, but... I'll tell you all about it, as soon as she gets around to going up." And that bit's just a little grim, with a glance out toward Iovniath on the ledge. But Tiriana adds, with a half-smirk for Yuliye again, "You know, though--golds, they tend to affect all the Weyr some, too. Projecting it everywhere when they're in the air."
She listens, quietly, that sex-related thoughtful tilt of her head turning actually thoughtful at what Tiriana says and though the goldrider's reclaimed her hands, Yuliye stretches out her own to try and grab them again. Clasp around them again. "Promise me," once she has those hands in between hers, hazel eyes all solemn and big, "Promise me that you'll give me a heads up when she does rise and I'll make sure to reel my nets in." Her tongue sticks out again, all cute especially when paired with a wink and one-shouldered shrug. "But really, we should do this more often. I like you. You're very sweet, Tiriana."
They're holding hands. Tiriana just doesn't seem to know what to think about that, blinking down at them and then at Yuliye. "Um. Well, okay," she agrees. "It gets pretty obvious, she starts glowing and everybody'll be talking about it, but... okay." Pause. "Wait, what? Sweet?" Cue deep befuddlement.
"Like a doughnut," agrees Yuliye, both sunnily and seriously. She'll even lean forward across the small space between them and kiss Tiriana's left cheek and then right cheek--that is unless Tiriana moves away fast enough.
Tiriana is too startled to move away, at least until after Yuliye kisses her. Then she leans back, regarding the elder girl uncertainly. "Are you /sure/ you're not hitting on me?"
Again there's that bright laughter that echoes even in this small bath chamber. "I didn't get to show you my apartments at Crom the last time. You'll like my baths more I think. It's," A reassuring pat puts Tiriana's hands back in her lap and Yuliye moves about to start cleaning. "A little larger. Do you mind if I come in here to take baths sometime when you're not in? When you're in a meeting? I...," a funny blush discolors the Crom woman's cheeks, "I can't keep flashing my cleavage to get a rider to take me home every other morning so I might bathe. Hmm. Please?" Headtilt.
"Do I... You know we have public baths, right? Off the caverns?" Tiriana regards Yuliye like she's really insane this time. "You seriously go to Crom every day. Faranth, you need, like... I don't even know what. But if all you're having to do is flash your cleavage, you're doing pretty good, I figure. If you really just /have/ to, though, I guess you can come in." Pause. "Just not early or anything, and /especially/ not if R'uen's still here." And Tiriana smirks then, gives Yuliye a pointed, downright conspiratorial look.
R'uen who? Yuliye has perfected that blank, vapid, I'm-so-pretty-and-not-bright stare, but she smiles. She smiles all the more sweet for the victory granted her by such a sweet and formidable opponent. "One more thing." She'll leave her box of doughnuts here, but will gather the polish box against her hip with one hand braced, the other leans to hook her kid heels over a finger. "One more favor, baby T?"
"My weyrmate," Tiriana clarifies. "With the big bronze dragon that sprawls out everywhere on the ledge. Can't miss 'im." But her head cocks curiously as Yuliye gets up, and Tiriana follows suit, rising. "What's that?"
She leans in, a little sad about her eyes but smiling nonetheless. "Try not to hate Crom or my uncle too much. Please? I mean, for me?" Yuliye tucks her shoes atop the box and with he free hand reaches to brush cake crumbs off of Tiriana's mouth corner. "He's trying to extend a white flag of peace and has ideas of how we might coexist better in the future. I'll be sure to tell him that High Reaches' next Weyrwoman is an absolutely lovely girl who makes me laugh." Please? How can anyone say no to those huge, luminous eyes that plead?
Big as those eyes are, it's an even bigger request Yuliye asks of Tiriana. The goldrider looks understandably dubious, her nose wrinkling up at the prospect. "Maybe. I'll see," she grudgingly tells Yuliye, with a lift of her shoulders. "But you know you all fucked over my Weyr first. Both of them. You don't just forget stuff like that, even if he's trying to act like we're all friends again now."
That regal chin drops, acknowledgement of just what Tiriana says. "/I'm/ not asking you to." But she's smiling again and airkisses Tiriana. "I'll see you next week!" Just as she walked in without permission, she walks out without so much as a by your leave.
"Next week," says Tiriana after she's gone, a groan. "Oh, Faranth." She just shakes her head, sets about cleaning up--which mostly means finishing off the doughnuts and staring smirkily at her bright yellow nails.