(Untitled)
Ava comes downstairs from her typical post-work shower in a bit of a bad mood. She has an especially bad post-vengeance headache, and her field training's been put off for a week, and Sssen's continual hissing about her broodchildren, while normally diverting, was today mostly just annoying
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Possible identity tip-off: the hipster glasses resting on the bar at his arm.
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She is in the middle of blowing on it to cool it off while not disturbing its delicate whipped cream balance when she spots a sopping Riley.
"Oh my God-- what happened to you?"
She's ... assuming rain, but is not ruling out falling into a swimming pool.
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Riley's eyes momentarily go a little wide (startled) behind the towel, and then he lowers it.
"Giant puddle plus standing on sidewalk plus speeding car," he drawls, as dryly (ha, ha, ha) as humanly possible. His hair is still wet and is spiking in every possible direction.
"Hi."
(He was going to leave a note for Ava after he cleaned up. Or at least stopped dripping.)
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Plus, Riley looks like a big wet puppy! You know, minus the fur and huge sloppy tongue.
"Giant puddles can be surprisingly brutal," she says sympathetically, wandering with her mug for the stool nearest Riley.
She fears no H20.
"Do you want me to grab a blowdryer?"
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"Surprisingly," he says, "I've never actually had a blowdryer turned on me before."
(You'd think that a house with three girls would involve more mishaps with hairdryers.)
Unhelpfully, it isn't an answer to Ava's question.
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"Besides, you could ..."
She gestures vaguely.
"Catch a cold, or something."
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... Then he blinks at her. It's the skepticism that does it. "--Oh, wait, you were serious with the blowdryer offer?"
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This is primarily directed towards her cocoa. She sips at it.
"Or I guess you could change clothes," she allows.
"Or be wet and cold. Lots of options."
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"Hey, Bar," she says, "we've got kiiiind of an emergency here. Do you have like a wireless blowdrying option?"
Something plastic, and roughly blowdryer-shaped, appears on the counter. Ava picks it up with a grin and flicks the switch to ON, appearing quite gratified when it roars to life.
"You want this thing?" she says, voice raised over the noise. "Because I can handle it if not!"
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"You know," he says, louder, "I think I'm gonna leave this one in your capable hands."
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And directs the blowdryer towards the most drenched-looking parts of Riley, wincing apologetically at the noise.
"I think this is the highest setting! Let me know if it gets too hot."
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On the bright side, though, the water droplets are really flying, which means that they're flying off Riley!
He shakes his hair out under the blast.
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She always has had a thing for guys who are secretly puppy dogs slash teddy bears.
(Screw bad boys.)
She's kind of giggling as she comes around to the other side of him for maximum dryage. But it's with him, not at him. Clearly!
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"Okay!" he says over the dryer, laughing. "Okay, I'm good!"
He's still wet, but no longer dripping. He will go ahead and call that positive progress.
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She pats Riley's shoulder experimentally.
"... Huh," she says, nodding in appreciation for a job well dried, and smiles.
"Not bad."
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