[log] now you can't await your own arrival you've twenty seconds to comply
"-thank you, truly. Yeah. Have a good day." It's only a few moments after Nick gets off the phone that the cell rings, and for almost a full minute he thinks about not picking up. In the end, of course, he does.
"Dr Hardaway. ...hello, no. No, I'm all free. ...All right. All right. Good day, then."
Right.
Incoming Alya, then. And no ( Read more... )
Not long after, Alya Sadova--dressed in her six-thousand-dollar businesswear, heels and pinstriped trousers and all of that--is at his doorstep. She knocks, and chooses not to wonder whether or not he's got furniture yet. That's part of why she's arriving. If the evidence is unsatisfactory, steps will be taken to correct as much.
They're almost like friends, these two.
Reply
Nick is rather less impressive, in his loose pants and an untucked button-down shirt, barefoot when he answers the door. It's hard to tell from just there if he's furnished the place. He greets her a little dryly, "What a surprise. Come in, Alya."
Reply
"As a general rule, it's actually customary to greet people with some variation on hello," she tells him, blandly, as she steps across the threshold and into the front hallway. The place gets an openly assessing critical once-over.
Reply
'Minimalist' is a generous description of how Nick has and has not decorated thus far. He gives her a vaguely amused, vaguely tolerant look when he closes the door again, strolling back towards his living room.
The walls are about as bare as they were the last time she was here. He's furnished the living room with absurd Sumo beanbags rather than an actual lounge suite, but there is a table (with one actual chair) in evidence, and he's slowing filling his bookshelves.
Of course he had bookshelves before he had anything else.
"I've never felt very beholden to customs."
Reply
Alya stops in the middle of the living room. She continues looking the place over, silently, and then she folds her arms over her chest with graceful, methodical, barely concealed ire, and just looks at Nick. She's actually a little bit amused by the beanbag chairs, but that doesn't prevent her from deciding it needs to be an addition, not the centerpiece of the room.
Reply
He tucks his hands in his pockets and attempts to look English and harmless. Neither of these are especially difficult for him (the latter despite height, build and competence). "Those were a suggestion," he says, conversationally, of the beanbags. "I quite like them."
Reply
"The next time you have a horde of six-year-olds by, you'll be set," Alya drawls, and then sighs, looking the bean-bags over a second time. "They're--cute."
'Cute' is one of those words that sounds almost foreign on her lips, but then, everything about her is foreign. Despite the English proficiency. "But they won't stand on their own. Get your shoes."
Reply
"I was a child psychiatrist," he says, mildly, meandering down the hall to...yes, to get his shoes. He could argue with her about this, and he is entertaining the possibility that letting her run too roughshod over him might be a problem later on - but to be fair, she's probably right about the furniture thing.
Also, it's entertaining.
Reply
She follows him down the hall, casually poking through rooms and mentally formulating a list of what'll be required. "Do you have any particular preferences for style, by the way? It'll help me decide where we ought to go."
You know, guys, other people just go to dinner.
Reply
"Simple." He considers this, the slightest furrow of a frown as it strikes him more seriously than it might someone else, "I don't care for red and I don't want anything remotely antique."
Some people talk about what they do prefer vs what they don't, but Nick's got his own home-related issues. Meanwhile, he's sitting down on the edge of his bed to yank on socks and shoes.
Reply
"Easily enough done," she decides, absently, moving to lean against the interior wall in the hallway.
Reply
He tucks his shirt in and tugs a woollen jersey on, for good measure, collecting the few necessities along with his coat. "I thought it might be."
He really is sort of amused here.
Reply
She's noticing. Alya gives him a look that's probably best described as 'wry' and straightens up, hands tucked into her trouser pockets. "Since I brought up the notion of formality, I suppose I ought to ask if you really want to go. I'll even throw in a 'please,' if you like."
Reply
"Would you truly? No, it's all right - I don't mind, honestly. I was just making a few phone calls, things I can get done later or tomorrow." He tucks his coat around himself, understated, and smiles slightly. "I put myself in your hands."
Reply
"There's a statement with levels," she murmurs, not particularly caring whether he hears. "Come on, then. I have to interfere at least a little, or you'll acquire a jungle gym for the living room next."
Reply
"Now there's a thought." Don't give him ideas, Alya, sometimes he has nothing better to do than see how they'll turn out. He follows her, hands tucked in his coat, and locks the door behind them.
Reply
Leave a comment