Spa day [RP, Abby and Robin]
The doorbell rang, for the second time.
"Mmmf. A little bloody patience," Robin muttered into his pillow, except it was more like Mmmf, ma mmffhh mmuhmfy mhhmnns.
He lifted his head, with effort, and regarded the wall blearily before levering the rest of his body after his head. Doorbell. Someone at the door. Very well ( Read more... )
"Mmmf. A little bloody patience," Robin muttered into his pillow, except it was more like Mmmf, ma mmffhh mmuhmfy mhhmnns.
He lifted his head, with effort, and regarded the wall blearily before levering the rest of his body after his head. Doorbell. Someone at the door. Very well ( Read more... )
She didn't wait for him to answer, merely smacked his robe-covered arm. "You forgot that we had plans. Robin!"
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He shut the door and wandered back through past Abby, leaning down to kiss her briefly on the cheek. "That said I am very happy to see you. Tea? Coffee? I certainly need one or the other. Possibly both. Do sit down," the last trailed off into a wide yawn punctuated by a stretch, and then Robin sauntered off towards the kitchen.
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Watching him for a few minutes she smirked and offered, "It's Thursday."
Abby realized they weren't going to be leaving any time soon and opted to get comfortable. She kicked off her shoes and leaned back, studying the view. It was so much nicer than the one from Cait's condo. Of course, anything not facing a brick wall was an improvement over that view. "I can't believe you can see Central Park from here..." She wrinkled her nose. "How much longer are you here for before you flit off back to the land of crumpets and barristers?"
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The kettle started, he crossed back into the living room and plopped down onto the couch, horizontally. Lying down was so much better than sitting up. One arm was flung over his face to spare his eyes daylight.
"Ummm. An excellent question. I shall have to call the office and find out. Presuming they don't call me first. I'm fairly certain there's something going in London this weekend I'm supposed to attend. But I shouldn't be gone long. I don't care for London in August. The city sticks to you. Wretched feeling."
Robin dropped his forearm from his face long enough to regard the ceiling, then said thoughtfully, "I rather like your idea of going to the spa like this. I don't feel like getting dressed."
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Sunlight was catching Robin's hair and turning the ginger locks into pretty shades of orange and gold. That he was a better view than the cityscape didn't really bother Abby as she gave him a thoughtful look. "You know, if you don't want to go out, we don't have to...you look tired."
Looking tired was of course code for 'you look like shit' and what else was a spa good for if not making you look and feel better? "Oh, hey...did Ruairi or Cait give you the latest?"
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One might be forgiven for thinking that was for the suggestion of abandoning their plans. Robin dispelled that in the next second with, "I look bloody fabulous."
He did throw a self-conscious glass at the nearest bright, mirror-like surface (there are many) to check his reflection, his cheeks, his eyes-- puffy? no, they wouldn't dare be-- and try and arrange his hair a bit. Only the prospect of gossip had him glancing back. "Tell me what? What's to tell? Nobody tells me anything and I have to settle for eavesdropping."
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She herself wasn't really concerned with what she looked like, she was used to being seen tired, frumpy and completely unmade-up.
"Hmm...nobody? I'm pretty sure I tell you things, Robin." She studied her nails...okay so maybe a manicure would be a good idea. Latex gloves were hell on her cuticles. A bright smile. "Guess who's getting married?"
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"Married, my goodness. Cait? No. Ruairi? No. Bush's daughters? Let's hope not."
The teakettle started whistling from the kitchen and Robin twisted upright and off the couch. "Who's getting married, then?" he threw back over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen.
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"Do you need help with anything?" She was already getting up and heading for the kitchen, playing host or not, Abby wasn't going to make Robin wait on her. She could make her own tea.
Coming up behind the fair fey she shook her head, even in bare feet he was obnoxiously tall. Unable to ruffle his hair, she settled for patting his back before moving to lean against the counter facing him. "I couldn't care less what President Shrub's scary progeny were doing."
"Anrai." She pursed her lips and thought about it for a moment. "Dimples asked that Montana rancher to marry him. The whole herd of them went out to meet her, spent a week there."
Was she pouting about being left out?
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Robin said a long, thoughtful "Mmmmm" to the big news, peering thoughtfully as he did so into unplumbed cupboard depths. His "Mmmmm" was mostly because he was trying to sort out where the honey had gotten to. If there'd been someone in bed this morning he would have suspected the bedroom, but as it was.... he settled for the sugar bowl.
The water from the kettle was poured into the teapot, and two matching saucers, cups, spoons, the sugar, and cream fetched from the fridge were all arranged onto a tray with such swiftness that Abby might be justified in suspecting magic, although it was nothing more than, at least, the particular witchcraft of being British. Tea is part of one's cultural heritage.
"Anrai and who?" he said at last, setting the teapot down onto the tray and lifting the whole mess above Abby's reach. "A Montana rancher...? Dear Lord, that sounds dreadfully dull. What's the point of getting married to someone if there's no scandal? Tch ( ... )
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Abby shrugged, she didn't know the woman or that there was a bit of scandal and gossip so she offered up what she did know, "She's some middle-aged homebody from what I've gathered. Horses and cows and who knows what else..." She sounded bitchy as hell. In an effort to be more charitable, "Anrai's happy and Ruairi and Cait haven't had anything bad to say about her."
She waited until Robin started to pour the tea then offered a non sequitor, "Had a patient come into the ER last night for a foreign body removal. Want to guess what we pulled out of his ass?"
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The tea looked lovely too, pouring into the white cups a rich brown. Mmm. Robin arched a single brow this time, looked at Abby, looked back down at the tea he was pouring, and guessed, "A teacup? I've no idea. Do you want sugar?"
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This was always her problem, whenever her life got hectic and crazy it was usually due to work and that meant she had precious little else to discuss with people. Med students being idiots, interns being terrors, attendings being tyrants and patients slowly killing what little faith she had left in humanity. "Had a guy swallow a light bulb once, that was wild."
But back to butt-boy..."Two hard boiled eggs, a salt shaker and a claw-foot hammer, handle first."
Abby shook her head as she recalled the experience. "The kicker?" Now the look of disgust came. "He wanted the salt shaker back. Was afraid his mother would notice it missing."
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"That is almost enough to put me off the pleasures of having things up one's arse," he says, and grimaces. "Heavens. One's mum's salt cellar should really not be an erotic object, unless one has a serious Jocasta complex going on, and even then I find it rather tasteless. And I sincerely hope he emptied it of salt beforehand. Ow."
Robin is now possibly devoting entirely too much thought to this subject. He's frowning in thought, opening his mouth to speak again, and-- fortunately-- the phone rings.
It's the one in his study/office, so Robin scoops up his tea, waggles his brows briefly at Abby over the rim of the cup as he sips, and saunters off towards the sound of the ringing.
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He isn't the only one who will shamelessly eavesdrop.
Abby won't be overt about the act though. She gravitates towards the walls lined in bookcases and the tomes shelved there. Some of the stuff is boring, coffee table type filler. Some simply doesn't interest her or is in a language she can't decipher. But others...oh, he has books and volumes that make her eyes light up.
She might have gone on to a career in medicine but she spent her undergrad years at Penn State studying literature. Whatever Robin was discussing over the phone ceased to be as interesting as the book spines she was currently studying. A somewhat worn looking book caught her eye, the title a bit worn but still legible.
A Guide to Irish Faeries, picking it up she thumbed through the gilt-leafed pages and smirked at some of the margins having notes scribbled in them ( ... )
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