Antar, in Trillian's nook
Trillian, still in pajamas, collapses into a comfortable chair at a small communal meal-table, dropping a book in front of her and turning to the third page in. She pulls the pencil from behind her ear and is about to start writing when the disturbance of Teldaro waltzing into the room singing 'Sunday, Bloody Sunday' breaks her reverie.
"Stealing my CDs again?" she asks, grinning.
"Miss Random gave it to me," he replies, gleaming. "Very good music, I think."
"Yes, U2's a favourite of mine also, but I'm not sure what you might see in them. Can you even understand--"
"No." Teldaro looks innocent. "I don't understand a word. Of English, that is."
"Your pronounciation's perfect."
"It works." He still sounds rather arrogant, however. "Would you like anything, my lady?"
"M'good," answers Trillian, going back to her edits. "I'd like to be able to work on this in peace, but working in peace when I've got you about --"
"And me," adds another voice. Teldaro instantly bows -- it's his king speaking, after all.
"Hey, Max. How's Faith?" chimes in Trillian.
"She is fine, thank you. Gone back to Milliways. Can I join you two, or is this a private party?"
"No, my lord," Teldaro answers, "You are entirely unwelcome in your own palace's breakfast nook."
"I thought so."
"I'll never get my work done," Trillian moans.
"I doubt you will, my lady." Tel's grinning widely.
Max is, too. It's hopeless, Trillian.
Good bloody lord I know. With you people around? How'm I supposed to do anything at all?
I guess you're just supposed to try. Laughing, Max plucks the pencil from her fingertips and, watching it for a few minutes, twisting-turning-molding-pulling ... hands her back a wooden spoon instead.
"Is that a hint," Trillian asks, "that I should become a housewife?"
"Stealing my CDs again?" she asks, grinning.
"Miss Random gave it to me," he replies, gleaming. "Very good music, I think."
"Yes, U2's a favourite of mine also, but I'm not sure what you might see in them. Can you even understand--"
"No." Teldaro looks innocent. "I don't understand a word. Of English, that is."
"Your pronounciation's perfect."
"It works." He still sounds rather arrogant, however. "Would you like anything, my lady?"
"M'good," answers Trillian, going back to her edits. "I'd like to be able to work on this in peace, but working in peace when I've got you about --"
"And me," adds another voice. Teldaro instantly bows -- it's his king speaking, after all.
"Hey, Max. How's Faith?" chimes in Trillian.
"She is fine, thank you. Gone back to Milliways. Can I join you two, or is this a private party?"
"No, my lord," Teldaro answers, "You are entirely unwelcome in your own palace's breakfast nook."
"I thought so."
"I'll never get my work done," Trillian moans.
"I doubt you will, my lady." Tel's grinning widely.
Max is, too. It's hopeless, Trillian.
Good bloody lord I know. With you people around? How'm I supposed to do anything at all?
I guess you're just supposed to try. Laughing, Max plucks the pencil from her fingertips and, watching it for a few minutes, twisting-turning-molding-pulling ... hands her back a wooden spoon instead.
"Is that a hint," Trillian asks, "that I should become a housewife?"