(no subject)
Players: Bailie, Sefton.
Time: After the party.
Synopsis: Having left their celebration behind, Sefton seeks Bai out to make sure she's not dreaming up ways to kill him. Special guest appearances by Sefton's wrinkled nose, Sefton's surprising declaration, and Bailie's stuffed toys.
Up the stairs, and behind that heavy door the family of the moment entered their party from, the Holders apartments are more than spacious and luxurious - they are practically palatial. Fort provides well for it's Blood; rich silks, velvets and warm wood tones blend with the stone interior, wide passages leading from dining room, to sitting room after sitting room adjoined to each member's own, and guest rooms times at least five. The boring brown and yellow combination is left for the hold proper, and here reds and royal purples reign; Bailie's own sitting room is an exception, decked in cream and wood, with long comfortable lounges and low coffee tables. The young Lady (blending well in her champagne dress) is currently standing behind one, her shoulders sunk low as she takes a moment of respite; the door to her bedroom has been left waywardly open, showing a glimpse of deep pink, stuffed toys, and a bed that would fit at least five of her with a princess' canopy draped over it.
Sefton has a lot of practice at giving guardians the slip, and tonight certainly represents the sort of occasion that calls for the exercising of this talent. He slides in through the door of the sitting room quietly, pushing it shut behind him with an audible click, and leaning back against it. He closes his eyes for a moment -- perhaps as in need of a moment's break as she -- but he's smiling as he opens them again to focus them on her. "There wasn't a woman there to touch you tonight, love. You look incredible." He'll try flattery, first.
Bailie doesn't turn at the sound of the door; her first inkling is that it's her father, but Sefton's voice draws a pleasantly surprised smile to her lips. He is lucky, for that - the fact that Berrigan is indeed not present speaks that most likely Kaile has let him drink himself to sleep, and with a smile her first reaction, Bailie is obviously relieved about this. "Despite your hair, you cut quite a handsome figure yourself." There are remnants of her 'proper' voice here, and Bailie takes a few steps toward a waiting pitcher or klah on her hearth without turning back to look at her betrothed.
"I'm glad you thought so," Sefton murmurs, eyes on her hips as he watches her move. "Comforting to know that I'm not yet quite so old that I can't hold my bride's attention." The assurance in his voice belies the concern he claims, and one hand comes up to rake the offending hair back from his face. There's not so much difference between Sefton's usual lazy drawl and the voice he uses for special occasions, but whatever exists of that has been abandoned now.
"What girl's attention wouldn't be fixed on the handsome Headmaster, hmm?" Bailie is pouring herself some klah as she speaks, and with mug in hand, finally turns around to survey the room - and Sefton. "You're quite the man of the moment, Sefton." Ginger, she is, and not good at hiding it. Her feet carry her toward a couch, and her mug is settled on a mahogany-rimmed glass coffee table; she settles down carefully on one cream couch, sinking back into cushions of orange, red, taupe and olive. "There's brandy or vodka on the tray over there," she indicates a cart with unopened bottles next the the hearth she was just near, "But I don't keep tea, sorry."
Sefton finally lifts his eyes from her hips, and proves that he's been listening by replying quietly. "I didn't come for a drink, love." Her pet-name has been upgraded it would seem, for tonight, at least. He pushes away from the door, taking his time as he walks over toward her -- dark eyes shifting here and there, taking in the details of the room, and the bedroom beyond. "I came to be sure you knew that I had no idea that appointment was even under consideration, let alone set to be announced." A faint frown, at that. "I ought to have known, too."
Bailie is unimpressed, whether she believes Sefton or not. Comfortable against her familiar cushions, she draws a breath that leaves her as a sigh; her klah is too far away to reach, and so is left for the time being. "Of course. I'm sorry if I wasn't as pleased as I should be for you, Sefton - I did my best. One of the weyrwomen was wearing the same coloured dress as me, I was just irritated every time I looked at her." A weak excuse, though not entirely untrue. All at once, the glows in the room seem to dim a notch, much to Bailie's further irritation. "Someone should have replaced those before I got back."
"Was she? I didn't even notice her." Sefton finally reaches her, and instead of taking a seat on the couch, he crouches in front of her, reaching out with one hand to balance himself against her knee. "Bailie, there was nobody to touch you. Simple as that." He does sincerity very well, dark eyes fixed on her face.
"You mightn't have, but /I/ did." Bailie counters, sulkily glancing down at Sefton crouched in front of her. Her scowl is short-lived, dispelled by that sincerity; she smiles again and blinks demurely. "Thank-you, Sefton." She tosses curls from her face in a quick motion, lifting a hand to tuck them away.
"I don't imagine anyone even looked at her," Sefton tells her, hand tightening on her knee for a moment, and joined by the second. If he never went down on one knee to propose, at least he's looking up at her now. "I was so proud of you tonight, you did wonderfully. I really am sorry that this Headmaster thing took the focus off what the evening was about, at least for part of it. It'll be a good thing for us though, you wait." Hands tighten again, willing her to accept this without argument.
"If you didn't, then I'm happy again," Bailie tells Sefton, with a naive sparkle in her eyes. She is somber again not a moment later, but accepts his assurance readily, as though already having thought of or been told such already. "I know, Sefton. It's a very good thing - such an announcement deserved it's own party, really. Nevermind, though." And an afterthought - "So many of the minor Fortians complimented me for you, you know."
"You know I'm useless at parties," Sefton laughs, reaching for one of her hands to draw it down to settle between his. "I'd be lost without you at events like these." Such a blatant untruth that even Bailie might bridle. "I want you to learn everything you can from your mother about how she manages to put these things together." Her afterthought, though, is what takes his interest, head coming up abruptly. "Did they? What did they say?"
Bailie gives Sefton a Look, obviously cottoning on to that lie. "There's no need to be so modest in here, Sefton, your audience sees right through it." As for the parties, "I'd imagine the key is to delegate, delegate, delegate - oh, you know." Her smile becomes more of a smirk, and Bailie's voice seems to lift a key from simply bland to amused. "How handsome you were, and what a wonderful match we make, and how well you work a room. More than one of the men were surprised at how attentive you were."
Sefton wrinkles his nose, dismissing most of the compliments with disinterest. "Of course I was attentive, love. You know very well you're not just a political match, or I should hope you do." It's an unprecedented declaration, but passed over as though it's nothing as he moves on to other matters. "I'll have enough to do trying to win over all your minor Holders, I'm not what they expected. I'd rather hear compliments on my political savvy."
"In conversation with them, not to me, silly," Bailie corrects, smug though that her bait drew the desired reaction. She heaves herself forward a little, and her eyes move over Sefton's shoulder to where her klah sits. "Why don't you get a drink, and let me have mine? I can tell you all about what everyone said in so much more detail after I've some klah to wear down the buzz from all the wine I've had tonight."
"Why would I want you letting go of the buzz? I'd rather take advantage of it." But even Sefton's not game -- or not until it's very late at night -- to try fooling around with Fort's daughter when there's still a chance that drudges will be along to help her into bed. So instead he reaches behind him to pas up her drink, and rises to his feet to go and inspect the offerings on the trolley. "I'm afraid I'll have to spend a great deal more time being attentive to them. It's only the beginning of winning them over from the idea of one of your brothers."
Bailie rolls her eyes without hesitation, and takes her cup in two hands. "There's plenty of alcohol here to bring it back at a more appropriate hour, Sefton -" She's confident there and her smile turns suggestively - only to quirk as another thought occurs to her. "You know, I only saw Sykarin once the whole evening, on his way outside for some fresh air. Usually, he's not more than a moment from me all night... speaking of my brothers, did you see them messing around by the door? I swear there was one stage where Vellen had Lord Anshuman's coat on and was parading back and forth with his nose in the air." She tsks, not as amused as the boys seem to have been at that antic.
Sefton's brows go up -- how far his bride-to-be has come in recent times -- and returns her smile as he opens the brandy. "I spoke to him briefly at the beginning of the evening, but I didn't see him after that. Funny, he was your shadow at the beginning of the Turn, wasn't he?" But the harper is dismissed with a shrug, and his lips quirk in an echo of hers as she mentions her brothers. "I pretended not to be. I saw no point in trying to begin a friendship with my future brothers-in-law by pulling them up for a fairly amusing imitation. They've reason enough to dislike me."
"He's been my shadow since the beginning of time," Bailie notes, and leans back into her cushions again as she sips. "It's sad to see him becoming so distant, really, but then I do suppose I'm growing well past the age of needing a nanny." So distant? Her tone suggests the Harper is shacked up in far Northern climes, rather than enjoying a party of his own accord. "Take them fishing, if you want to win them over. It'll be a start anyway - especially Balien, it's about the only thing he's good at.
"We must make sure he doesn't feel you don't need him," Sefton murmurs, pouring himself a generous measure and lifting the glass to try the drink. "That's excellent stuff." This verdict delivered, he moves around to ease back onto the couch beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him. "He's a valuable man to have around, and we'll want him doing his best for us. Make sure you spend time with him, will you?"
Bailie's brows crease in a curious sort of way - as though the brandy on her drinks cart would be anything but? The expression gives way to a more neutral one as she nods, and settles her cup atop one knee carefully. "Of course I will. As long as there are books to be read and discussed, I doubt I can avoid it anyway!"
"I know, but make a special effort for me, will you? I'll do the same." Sefton loops an arm around her shoulders, bringing up his glass to smother a yawn. "Fishing, you say? Can't say the idea of fishing in your cold water thrills me, but I suppose I'd better get used to it if it's going to be my cold water." A grin, suddenly, and he leans sideways to rest his lips against her temple. "One day, Turns from now when we're married and allowed off by ourselves without a chaperone, I'm going to take you to the beach at Boll. Just the pair of us for a day, you'll love it."
"A special effort, then." Bailie raises her cup in agreement, but settles it back down rather than taking a sip. "You don't have to take them here, if you don't want. It's not so hard to arrange a fishing trip somewhere else?" The grin, and Sefton's sudden proximity prompts another, warmer smile from Bailie, and one hand moves from her cup to rest half-way up his closest thigh. "I'm sure I will, Sef. Do you really think it'll be that long, though? Before we're allowed without a chaperone?"
"Good idea, I'll show them what colourful stuff we've got at home." A pause, and Sefton corrects himself with a faint frown. "At Boll. Perhaps they'll like that." Tightening his arm around her shoulders for a moment, he lifts his chin to settle it atop her head. "If your father has anything to do with it, I won't be allowed to touch you on our wedding night. Perhaps in time they'll let us slip the chaperone a little, but never officially. Your virtue is important, young lady." He's laughing with those final words.
Bailie lifts her klah from her knee ever so slightly, to avoid any spillages as she settles in closer still to Sefton. Not missed is his correction, and Bailie frowns with some sympathy. "It's a good thing Boll's so close, you'll never be too far from what you know." There's only time enough for him to laugh his last comment away before she's speaking again, this time rogueish as her hand creeps up his thigh toward his waist. "And you are -so- concerned with my virtue, aren't you Sefton? I'm sure there will be times when Sykarin will be more than happy to lose track of us for awhile, never fear."
"I know, and even Fort'll seem warm after so long at 'Reaches, won't it?" Sefton sounds rather like a man making the best of things, but that line of thought is abandoned completely in favour of a long swallow of his brandy. "You make it very hard to be concerned with it, you know that." His frame shifts as he laughs, and he moves to kiss the top of her head before resting his chin there once more. "So long as it's all mine, I'm happy enough. You give me just one more reason to keep Sykarin pleased. You must complain to your father that he never leaves your side, make sure Berrigan doesn't think to give you a different chaperone."
"We'll need drudges to walk around with giant fans everywhere we go during the Fortian summers," Bailie agrees to the comparison with a giggle. She wiggles her arm in between his back and the couch, curving her hand to his hip once it's done. "I'm sure my father is aware that I'd never speak to him again if he were to assign me someone else, don't you worry."
Another gulp of the brandy. "Is there a way of locking this door, pet?" Sefton's interest in the political is degenerating rapidly, overtaken by something far more immediate. Time enough for debriefings later on. "I'm probably expected down there for drinks with the last ones standing, but I've got a little longer before I have to be there."
Bailie's klah cup rises to indicate the main door to the passageway. "Not that one, -" the cup swings toward the door to her bedroom next, "- but /that/ one locks. How long are you able to spare for me?" She's too interested to be playing games tonight, her klah having done little to assuage the buzz spoken about before.
Sefton leans forward to set his glass down on the table, then claims her cup to set it down beside his. "Let's see how long you can keep me distracted, love." With a wolfish grin he's on his feet, pulling her up after him and leaning down to kiss her soundly. Tonight has been an all-round sucess. Even fluffy toys, it seems, will not put him off.
Considering Bailie has not occupied her room for nigh on a turn, fluffy toys can be excused anyway, can't they? "That sounds like a challenge, Sef -" her voice strains with the effort it is to get up, but she's no less than eager to kiss him back whilst gently tugging in the direction of that lockable door.
-END LOG-
Time: After the party.
Synopsis: Having left their celebration behind, Sefton seeks Bai out to make sure she's not dreaming up ways to kill him. Special guest appearances by Sefton's wrinkled nose, Sefton's surprising declaration, and Bailie's stuffed toys.
Up the stairs, and behind that heavy door the family of the moment entered their party from, the Holders apartments are more than spacious and luxurious - they are practically palatial. Fort provides well for it's Blood; rich silks, velvets and warm wood tones blend with the stone interior, wide passages leading from dining room, to sitting room after sitting room adjoined to each member's own, and guest rooms times at least five. The boring brown and yellow combination is left for the hold proper, and here reds and royal purples reign; Bailie's own sitting room is an exception, decked in cream and wood, with long comfortable lounges and low coffee tables. The young Lady (blending well in her champagne dress) is currently standing behind one, her shoulders sunk low as she takes a moment of respite; the door to her bedroom has been left waywardly open, showing a glimpse of deep pink, stuffed toys, and a bed that would fit at least five of her with a princess' canopy draped over it.
Sefton has a lot of practice at giving guardians the slip, and tonight certainly represents the sort of occasion that calls for the exercising of this talent. He slides in through the door of the sitting room quietly, pushing it shut behind him with an audible click, and leaning back against it. He closes his eyes for a moment -- perhaps as in need of a moment's break as she -- but he's smiling as he opens them again to focus them on her. "There wasn't a woman there to touch you tonight, love. You look incredible." He'll try flattery, first.
Bailie doesn't turn at the sound of the door; her first inkling is that it's her father, but Sefton's voice draws a pleasantly surprised smile to her lips. He is lucky, for that - the fact that Berrigan is indeed not present speaks that most likely Kaile has let him drink himself to sleep, and with a smile her first reaction, Bailie is obviously relieved about this. "Despite your hair, you cut quite a handsome figure yourself." There are remnants of her 'proper' voice here, and Bailie takes a few steps toward a waiting pitcher or klah on her hearth without turning back to look at her betrothed.
"I'm glad you thought so," Sefton murmurs, eyes on her hips as he watches her move. "Comforting to know that I'm not yet quite so old that I can't hold my bride's attention." The assurance in his voice belies the concern he claims, and one hand comes up to rake the offending hair back from his face. There's not so much difference between Sefton's usual lazy drawl and the voice he uses for special occasions, but whatever exists of that has been abandoned now.
"What girl's attention wouldn't be fixed on the handsome Headmaster, hmm?" Bailie is pouring herself some klah as she speaks, and with mug in hand, finally turns around to survey the room - and Sefton. "You're quite the man of the moment, Sefton." Ginger, she is, and not good at hiding it. Her feet carry her toward a couch, and her mug is settled on a mahogany-rimmed glass coffee table; she settles down carefully on one cream couch, sinking back into cushions of orange, red, taupe and olive. "There's brandy or vodka on the tray over there," she indicates a cart with unopened bottles next the the hearth she was just near, "But I don't keep tea, sorry."
Sefton finally lifts his eyes from her hips, and proves that he's been listening by replying quietly. "I didn't come for a drink, love." Her pet-name has been upgraded it would seem, for tonight, at least. He pushes away from the door, taking his time as he walks over toward her -- dark eyes shifting here and there, taking in the details of the room, and the bedroom beyond. "I came to be sure you knew that I had no idea that appointment was even under consideration, let alone set to be announced." A faint frown, at that. "I ought to have known, too."
Bailie is unimpressed, whether she believes Sefton or not. Comfortable against her familiar cushions, she draws a breath that leaves her as a sigh; her klah is too far away to reach, and so is left for the time being. "Of course. I'm sorry if I wasn't as pleased as I should be for you, Sefton - I did my best. One of the weyrwomen was wearing the same coloured dress as me, I was just irritated every time I looked at her." A weak excuse, though not entirely untrue. All at once, the glows in the room seem to dim a notch, much to Bailie's further irritation. "Someone should have replaced those before I got back."
"Was she? I didn't even notice her." Sefton finally reaches her, and instead of taking a seat on the couch, he crouches in front of her, reaching out with one hand to balance himself against her knee. "Bailie, there was nobody to touch you. Simple as that." He does sincerity very well, dark eyes fixed on her face.
"You mightn't have, but /I/ did." Bailie counters, sulkily glancing down at Sefton crouched in front of her. Her scowl is short-lived, dispelled by that sincerity; she smiles again and blinks demurely. "Thank-you, Sefton." She tosses curls from her face in a quick motion, lifting a hand to tuck them away.
"I don't imagine anyone even looked at her," Sefton tells her, hand tightening on her knee for a moment, and joined by the second. If he never went down on one knee to propose, at least he's looking up at her now. "I was so proud of you tonight, you did wonderfully. I really am sorry that this Headmaster thing took the focus off what the evening was about, at least for part of it. It'll be a good thing for us though, you wait." Hands tighten again, willing her to accept this without argument.
"If you didn't, then I'm happy again," Bailie tells Sefton, with a naive sparkle in her eyes. She is somber again not a moment later, but accepts his assurance readily, as though already having thought of or been told such already. "I know, Sefton. It's a very good thing - such an announcement deserved it's own party, really. Nevermind, though." And an afterthought - "So many of the minor Fortians complimented me for you, you know."
"You know I'm useless at parties," Sefton laughs, reaching for one of her hands to draw it down to settle between his. "I'd be lost without you at events like these." Such a blatant untruth that even Bailie might bridle. "I want you to learn everything you can from your mother about how she manages to put these things together." Her afterthought, though, is what takes his interest, head coming up abruptly. "Did they? What did they say?"
Bailie gives Sefton a Look, obviously cottoning on to that lie. "There's no need to be so modest in here, Sefton, your audience sees right through it." As for the parties, "I'd imagine the key is to delegate, delegate, delegate - oh, you know." Her smile becomes more of a smirk, and Bailie's voice seems to lift a key from simply bland to amused. "How handsome you were, and what a wonderful match we make, and how well you work a room. More than one of the men were surprised at how attentive you were."
Sefton wrinkles his nose, dismissing most of the compliments with disinterest. "Of course I was attentive, love. You know very well you're not just a political match, or I should hope you do." It's an unprecedented declaration, but passed over as though it's nothing as he moves on to other matters. "I'll have enough to do trying to win over all your minor Holders, I'm not what they expected. I'd rather hear compliments on my political savvy."
"In conversation with them, not to me, silly," Bailie corrects, smug though that her bait drew the desired reaction. She heaves herself forward a little, and her eyes move over Sefton's shoulder to where her klah sits. "Why don't you get a drink, and let me have mine? I can tell you all about what everyone said in so much more detail after I've some klah to wear down the buzz from all the wine I've had tonight."
"Why would I want you letting go of the buzz? I'd rather take advantage of it." But even Sefton's not game -- or not until it's very late at night -- to try fooling around with Fort's daughter when there's still a chance that drudges will be along to help her into bed. So instead he reaches behind him to pas up her drink, and rises to his feet to go and inspect the offerings on the trolley. "I'm afraid I'll have to spend a great deal more time being attentive to them. It's only the beginning of winning them over from the idea of one of your brothers."
Bailie rolls her eyes without hesitation, and takes her cup in two hands. "There's plenty of alcohol here to bring it back at a more appropriate hour, Sefton -" She's confident there and her smile turns suggestively - only to quirk as another thought occurs to her. "You know, I only saw Sykarin once the whole evening, on his way outside for some fresh air. Usually, he's not more than a moment from me all night... speaking of my brothers, did you see them messing around by the door? I swear there was one stage where Vellen had Lord Anshuman's coat on and was parading back and forth with his nose in the air." She tsks, not as amused as the boys seem to have been at that antic.
Sefton's brows go up -- how far his bride-to-be has come in recent times -- and returns her smile as he opens the brandy. "I spoke to him briefly at the beginning of the evening, but I didn't see him after that. Funny, he was your shadow at the beginning of the Turn, wasn't he?" But the harper is dismissed with a shrug, and his lips quirk in an echo of hers as she mentions her brothers. "I pretended not to be. I saw no point in trying to begin a friendship with my future brothers-in-law by pulling them up for a fairly amusing imitation. They've reason enough to dislike me."
"He's been my shadow since the beginning of time," Bailie notes, and leans back into her cushions again as she sips. "It's sad to see him becoming so distant, really, but then I do suppose I'm growing well past the age of needing a nanny." So distant? Her tone suggests the Harper is shacked up in far Northern climes, rather than enjoying a party of his own accord. "Take them fishing, if you want to win them over. It'll be a start anyway - especially Balien, it's about the only thing he's good at.
"We must make sure he doesn't feel you don't need him," Sefton murmurs, pouring himself a generous measure and lifting the glass to try the drink. "That's excellent stuff." This verdict delivered, he moves around to ease back onto the couch beside her, stretching his legs out in front of him. "He's a valuable man to have around, and we'll want him doing his best for us. Make sure you spend time with him, will you?"
Bailie's brows crease in a curious sort of way - as though the brandy on her drinks cart would be anything but? The expression gives way to a more neutral one as she nods, and settles her cup atop one knee carefully. "Of course I will. As long as there are books to be read and discussed, I doubt I can avoid it anyway!"
"I know, but make a special effort for me, will you? I'll do the same." Sefton loops an arm around her shoulders, bringing up his glass to smother a yawn. "Fishing, you say? Can't say the idea of fishing in your cold water thrills me, but I suppose I'd better get used to it if it's going to be my cold water." A grin, suddenly, and he leans sideways to rest his lips against her temple. "One day, Turns from now when we're married and allowed off by ourselves without a chaperone, I'm going to take you to the beach at Boll. Just the pair of us for a day, you'll love it."
"A special effort, then." Bailie raises her cup in agreement, but settles it back down rather than taking a sip. "You don't have to take them here, if you don't want. It's not so hard to arrange a fishing trip somewhere else?" The grin, and Sefton's sudden proximity prompts another, warmer smile from Bailie, and one hand moves from her cup to rest half-way up his closest thigh. "I'm sure I will, Sef. Do you really think it'll be that long, though? Before we're allowed without a chaperone?"
"Good idea, I'll show them what colourful stuff we've got at home." A pause, and Sefton corrects himself with a faint frown. "At Boll. Perhaps they'll like that." Tightening his arm around her shoulders for a moment, he lifts his chin to settle it atop her head. "If your father has anything to do with it, I won't be allowed to touch you on our wedding night. Perhaps in time they'll let us slip the chaperone a little, but never officially. Your virtue is important, young lady." He's laughing with those final words.
Bailie lifts her klah from her knee ever so slightly, to avoid any spillages as she settles in closer still to Sefton. Not missed is his correction, and Bailie frowns with some sympathy. "It's a good thing Boll's so close, you'll never be too far from what you know." There's only time enough for him to laugh his last comment away before she's speaking again, this time rogueish as her hand creeps up his thigh toward his waist. "And you are -so- concerned with my virtue, aren't you Sefton? I'm sure there will be times when Sykarin will be more than happy to lose track of us for awhile, never fear."
"I know, and even Fort'll seem warm after so long at 'Reaches, won't it?" Sefton sounds rather like a man making the best of things, but that line of thought is abandoned completely in favour of a long swallow of his brandy. "You make it very hard to be concerned with it, you know that." His frame shifts as he laughs, and he moves to kiss the top of her head before resting his chin there once more. "So long as it's all mine, I'm happy enough. You give me just one more reason to keep Sykarin pleased. You must complain to your father that he never leaves your side, make sure Berrigan doesn't think to give you a different chaperone."
"We'll need drudges to walk around with giant fans everywhere we go during the Fortian summers," Bailie agrees to the comparison with a giggle. She wiggles her arm in between his back and the couch, curving her hand to his hip once it's done. "I'm sure my father is aware that I'd never speak to him again if he were to assign me someone else, don't you worry."
Another gulp of the brandy. "Is there a way of locking this door, pet?" Sefton's interest in the political is degenerating rapidly, overtaken by something far more immediate. Time enough for debriefings later on. "I'm probably expected down there for drinks with the last ones standing, but I've got a little longer before I have to be there."
Bailie's klah cup rises to indicate the main door to the passageway. "Not that one, -" the cup swings toward the door to her bedroom next, "- but /that/ one locks. How long are you able to spare for me?" She's too interested to be playing games tonight, her klah having done little to assuage the buzz spoken about before.
Sefton leans forward to set his glass down on the table, then claims her cup to set it down beside his. "Let's see how long you can keep me distracted, love." With a wolfish grin he's on his feet, pulling her up after him and leaning down to kiss her soundly. Tonight has been an all-round sucess. Even fluffy toys, it seems, will not put him off.
Considering Bailie has not occupied her room for nigh on a turn, fluffy toys can be excused anyway, can't they? "That sounds like a challenge, Sef -" her voice strains with the effort it is to get up, but she's no less than eager to kiss him back whilst gently tugging in the direction of that lockable door.
-END LOG-