first came
Grahame: *is suspicious*
Sam: *cheerful look*
Grahame: *is MORE suspicious* *contrives to look as if he has no clue Sam even exists*
Sam: *suspects otherwise* *raised eyebrow and flirty look*
Grahame: *is completely absorbed in his work and unaware of the world around him, thank you very much*
Sam: *thoughtful* *lights, yay!*
Grahame: . . . *reminds himself that there is no need to be distracted by such things in Milliways*
Sam: *sends the lights somewhat closer than they really need to be, ahem*
Grahame: *this earns an irritable flick of his pen*
Lights: *are more or less intangible, ner*
Grahame: *endeavors to ignore them* *with great annoyance*
Sam: *recalls the lights again* *keeps playing with them, and waits*
Grahame: *is not about to admit that his concentration has been completely shattered*
Sam: *slides Grahame a half-laughing glance* You don't have to work all the time, you know. Benefits of time stopping outside.
Grahame: *still looking at the speech he is currently not writing* I do prefer to get things done promptly.
Sam: Well. It'll still be prompt as far as everyone else is concerned, when you leave?
Grahame: *stiffly* I still like to get it out of the way.
Sam: And then replace it with more work? Doesn't sound like much fun.
Grahame: I didn't sign on for fun.
Sam: What's the point of going without it?
Grahame: I do fine without it. Someone has to concentrate on getting things done.
Sam: *curious* Don't you ever get time for yourself?
Grahame: What would I do with that?
Sam: *smiles* There's enough possibilities to fill nearly five thousand years, and I haven't run out yet. *bright look* Ever tried to explore them?
Grahame: *gives Sam the sort of look you give someone who is being
tiresome*
Sam: *cheerful* No?
Grahame: *shortly* I don't have five thousand years. I imagine I'll be lucky if I have seventy. Now, do you mind?
Sam: Then why let them go by without enjoying them?
Grahame: *puts his pen down sharply, exasperated* Because I'm surrounded by idiots who think having fun is all there is to life.
Sam: Well, it's not all there is. But it's one of the things that makes the rest worthwhile.
Grahame: *curtly* I'm sure it is. I haven't got time for it.
Sam: Here you have. You've got time for anything you want, here.
Grahame: I want to finish writing this. *duh, Sam*
Sam: Really? Or do you just think you should?
Grahame: No, actually, you're right. What I really want is for some twit to stop running his mouth and leave me in peace, but it would appear that I'm not going to get that, either.
Sam: *chuckles* Now you're getting it. *pause* Tell you what. Spend half an hour trying to actually enjoy yourself for once, and at the end of it if you still want me to I swear I'll leave you be. I'll even write whatever that is for you, if you want - bet I've probably done your job before, even if I didn't do it for long. One of the things about kicking around Earth for five thousand years.
Grahame: Jesus Christ, it's like sharing a dorm with Reed all over again.
Sam: *eyebrow quirk* Reed?
Grahame: *briefly* My brother. He died a couple years ago. *does not sound even remotely sorry about this*
Sam: Yeah? I've got a lot of brothers. Sisters, too. *offers his hand* I'm also called Sam - at least, I am around here.
Grahame: Grahame Chandler. *picks up his pen again*
Sam: *shakes his head, briefly* They don't shake hands on your world?
Grahame: Not when they're trying to discourage unwanted company, they don't.
Sam: *lightly* You're no fun. Also, you never said no before.
Grahame: *immediately* No. I spend enough time playing ridiculous games at home, I am not doing it here.
Sam: Hey, at least here you've got the time for it. And if I'm going to pester you anyway, what've you got to lose?
Sam: *cheerful look*
Grahame: *is MORE suspicious* *contrives to look as if he has no clue Sam even exists*
Sam: *suspects otherwise* *raised eyebrow and flirty look*
Grahame: *is completely absorbed in his work and unaware of the world around him, thank you very much*
Sam: *thoughtful* *lights, yay!*
Grahame: . . . *reminds himself that there is no need to be distracted by such things in Milliways*
Sam: *sends the lights somewhat closer than they really need to be, ahem*
Grahame: *this earns an irritable flick of his pen*
Lights: *are more or less intangible, ner*
Grahame: *endeavors to ignore them* *with great annoyance*
Sam: *recalls the lights again* *keeps playing with them, and waits*
Grahame: *is not about to admit that his concentration has been completely shattered*
Sam: *slides Grahame a half-laughing glance* You don't have to work all the time, you know. Benefits of time stopping outside.
Grahame: *still looking at the speech he is currently not writing* I do prefer to get things done promptly.
Sam: Well. It'll still be prompt as far as everyone else is concerned, when you leave?
Grahame: *stiffly* I still like to get it out of the way.
Sam: And then replace it with more work? Doesn't sound like much fun.
Grahame: I didn't sign on for fun.
Sam: What's the point of going without it?
Grahame: I do fine without it. Someone has to concentrate on getting things done.
Sam: *curious* Don't you ever get time for yourself?
Grahame: What would I do with that?
Sam: *smiles* There's enough possibilities to fill nearly five thousand years, and I haven't run out yet. *bright look* Ever tried to explore them?
Grahame: *gives Sam the sort of look you give someone who is being
tiresome*
Sam: *cheerful* No?
Grahame: *shortly* I don't have five thousand years. I imagine I'll be lucky if I have seventy. Now, do you mind?
Sam: Then why let them go by without enjoying them?
Grahame: *puts his pen down sharply, exasperated* Because I'm surrounded by idiots who think having fun is all there is to life.
Sam: Well, it's not all there is. But it's one of the things that makes the rest worthwhile.
Grahame: *curtly* I'm sure it is. I haven't got time for it.
Sam: Here you have. You've got time for anything you want, here.
Grahame: I want to finish writing this. *duh, Sam*
Sam: Really? Or do you just think you should?
Grahame: No, actually, you're right. What I really want is for some twit to stop running his mouth and leave me in peace, but it would appear that I'm not going to get that, either.
Sam: *chuckles* Now you're getting it. *pause* Tell you what. Spend half an hour trying to actually enjoy yourself for once, and at the end of it if you still want me to I swear I'll leave you be. I'll even write whatever that is for you, if you want - bet I've probably done your job before, even if I didn't do it for long. One of the things about kicking around Earth for five thousand years.
Grahame: Jesus Christ, it's like sharing a dorm with Reed all over again.
Sam: *eyebrow quirk* Reed?
Grahame: *briefly* My brother. He died a couple years ago. *does not sound even remotely sorry about this*
Sam: Yeah? I've got a lot of brothers. Sisters, too. *offers his hand* I'm also called Sam - at least, I am around here.
Grahame: Grahame Chandler. *picks up his pen again*
Sam: *shakes his head, briefly* They don't shake hands on your world?
Grahame: Not when they're trying to discourage unwanted company, they don't.
Sam: *lightly* You're no fun. Also, you never said no before.
Grahame: *immediately* No. I spend enough time playing ridiculous games at home, I am not doing it here.
Sam: Hey, at least here you've got the time for it. And if I'm going to pester you anyway, what've you got to lose?