Shopping
Sabby and I met to do some shopping down in Chinatown at the new clothing store Terry told me about. Wonderful time! If we stick to girl-talk, and giggling over Rossi and that stick up his ass, I think we do just fine.
I'm so looking forward to the dinner. Need to check with Chris on times, start buying the ingredients, planning the meal.
And maybe by then, I'll have a firm contract approved on the shelters story so I'll have to reason to celebrate with too much wine and perhaps a discreet mauling of the nearest available man-flesh.
Eight months. Shit. That is too long.
7/5/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chinatown
The hub of Asian immigration is centered here in Chinatown, a dizzying array of shops and streetside markets selling fresh fish, jewelry, and all manner of oddities. Run through by the shopper's heaven of Canal Street, it's a well-populated area, with plenty other races intermingled with the largely Chinese and Japanese population, with those from Taiwan, Vietnam, and Cambodia as well. Dozens of restaurants open here, with neon signs in foreign characters and poor English attracting many each day for a slight taste of the exotic.
--
Chinatown is alight and alive with the evening, still early enough for some prime shopping to be done (especially the closing-hours please-take-our-merchandise-away sales!), but late enough to have driven off most of the tourists that regularly muck up the neighborhood with gawking and tripping over annoyed natives. One of the latter group, although not looking particularly annoyed, is loitering outside a relatively new shop that promises racks and racks of prime shopping, indeed, inside: gaudy clothing, gaudier jewelry, and all sorts of feminine niceties. Leah checks her watch, gives a bland smile to the suspicious boy hanging in the doorway (she coming in or not?), and scratches idly at her elbow.
Sabitha is tired. She's also late. These two things may possibly be related, but Sabby isn't likely to admit it. She dodges a late-lingering tourist in irriation, and then darts recklessly across the street toward Leah.
Leah sees her coming and is already at the door, politely ushering the boy aside (he sniffs and permits it, already on the look-out for the next customer) so she can grab it and hold it open for them. "I /just/ heard about this place from my friend Terry," is her merry greeting for the other woman. "She got this fabulous silk dress for about sixty bucks last week. Would've cost her ten times that on Madison or Park. I need something for a dinner coming up, so . . ."
"Yeah?" Sabby replies, tucking her purse tightly against her as she dodges one last person to draw in next to Leah and then ducking inside. "I'm always up for a good deal. And adding to my wardrobe."
"Excellent," declares Leah and lets the door swing shut behind them again. She pauses to take stock of the racks and shelves and such, and then dives for the glimmering shine of some silk blouses along one wall. "This is for dinner with /you./ You and your Travis." She holds up a striking crimson piece, with a wry little smile. "So, you know, I thought I should at least try to look decent. For first impressions and all."
Sabitha blinks sideways at Leah, and it takes her a moment to process that. "You're buying a new dress just to have dinner with us?" she questions, and then turns her attention to a rack with a wry smile. "Hell. Now I'll have to keep up, Leah. The /pressure/."
Leah laughs and puts the red shirt back. "No, no! Really, it's an excuse to dress up, but . . . oh, hell, I don't know. I just wanted to get out and do something besides staring at the walls or my writing, and shopping is fun, and . . . yeah." She puffs out a breath and tries another smile. "I wanted to make a good first impression for this guy, for you, since I'm the one hosting the fun. Nothing more than that, really. And nothing fancy! I promise. Then we won't have to worry about my marinara sauce dripping and ruining our nice new clothes."
Sabitha laughs shortly, and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it so much," she assures her. "Travis will like you just fine. He appreciates smart people." She rifles through a rack absently. "And if he doesn't, well. Screw him, eh?" She glance up, flashing a quick, teasing grin.
Leah snorts and, thus reassured, resumes digging, too. "What do you think of this yellow one? Too bright?" She holds it up against her chest for show. "Yeah, I worry too much. You know it. And that's not even getting into the guy I invited to make it four at the table." She sighs. "Me and my Emily Post etiquette."
Sabitha lifts a startled brow. "You're bringing a /date/?" she questions with a small smile, and then quickly shakes her head at the shirt. "Wow. This is turning out to be quite the to-do, huh? Should we bring some wine?"
"God. That's what /he/ said." Leah puts the blouse back, sending it on its way with a scowl that eases into an easier, rueful grimace. "I just wanted to have mixed company, all balanced, and he was the one guy I thought would say yes on a moment's notice. Please do me a favor by believing that," she begs, only half-joking.
Sabitha blinks at Leah over a shirt she's mulling over, and then slides it back to the rack. "I probably would've, until you begged me to," she states. "So there's obviously a story behind this guy. Spill."
Leah slants her a bright-squinted look. "Thanks," she says, and does so while absently picking between a softer yellow shirt and a plain black one. "I dated his brother about three years ago, for a year and a half. Not my finest moment, and I eventually dumped him. I'm still friends with their sister, but dropped out of touch for a while. And Gabe, my ex, got hit by a car, and his brother, Chris, calls to let me know. Cue arguing, snarking, and swearing at each other. Same old, same old, from every time we've ever been around each other."
Sabitha levels a considering glance on Leah. "Is he hot?" she questions blandly, shifting sideways to a new rack.
"Yes," Leah mutters like a curse, indeed, and holds out the black blouse for a closer look. "--Eh. You know. Tall, dark, and handsome. And Italian. And full of so much attitude, he practically needs an entourage to carry it around for him. Honestly, I should just sleep with him and get it over with, but he's so damned chivalrous, it would never happen. /And/ his mother would kill me. I think. Protective, you know."
"So don't tell her," Sabby suggests with a conspiratorially lifted brow. "And don't give /him/ the chance." She gives Leah a once-over. "Want me to talk to him? Honestly. More people outta just screw and get the hell over their issues."
Leah waggles the blouse in her hand so that it ripples between them, fluttering against her body like a shroud. "An end-run around Mom? Yeah, maybe. But what would you say to him?" She shifts to a hipshot stance, drawn in by conspiracy and her own, obvious half-horrified amusement at the situation. "--Did we just time-warp back to high school with this?"
Sabitha snorts quietly. "No. In high school, we probably wouldn't be pimping each other out for /actual/ sex," she answers, and shrugs absently as her fingers wander through a rack of shirts. "I'd say 'Leah's horny as hell, you're hot and we assume straight. Be a nice guy and do a girl a favor." She pauses to give Leah a saucy wink. "I could also talk about how you're wild in bed and let his imagination run a bit wild."
Leah chokes on a laugh that she then lets free, what the hell. "Oh, /do./ Straight-edged, law-and-order Detective Christopher Rossi? He'd die. Try to glower you to death. Or lock you up as a maniac." She puts the black back only reluctantly and wanders on, still grinning to herself. "You're right about high school, anyway. At least now, we have a much better chance of getting laid. And liking it. One can hope." She fakes a swoon against the next rack. "But it's been so looooong, Sabby. Damn. If I can even consider that prick, and the guy attached to it . . ."
"Should I make it my goal to shock him senseless, then?" Sabby questions with a grinning waggle of her brows, following after Leah. She settles her expression and steps sideways around a rack. "That bad, huh? Why'd you invite him to dinner, then?" A pause, and she asks again, "Dare I ask how long?"
Leah chuckles anew. "Oh, if you want the entertainment, please do, please do. I'll have to leap in and take your side, and that will only make it worse. Mmm." The thought moves her to the next rack, where she stops to pick through the dresses there. And she makes a face back at Sabby. "How long? Hell. Six months? Eight? And /that/ was not satisfying, I do assure you. Intermittent hook-ups after work really suck after a while. So maybe I'm on the prowl for more . . . but that's not why Rossi got invited." She sighs, broods at the dresses. "I hope not anyway. What do I do if my subconscious is sabotaging me?"
Sabitha mms quietly, and pulls out a dress to study it more carefully. "I'll play it by ear," she answers after a moment. "Although I have to admit, shocking him is /terribly/ tempting. I don't get to do it /nearly/ often enough." She pauses, looking up to watch Leah as she speaks. "Hell. Yeah. If it's something more, I definitely can't help you out." She pauses, and ponders. "Well. If you like, I'll give you a full rundown of my impression after dinner? We can see if this Rossi fellow is worth half a look."
"Thanks," Leah returns quietly, with obvious (and frustrated) feeling. Her fingers might be wandering through the rack, but she's not seeing much of it. She does glance over at the other woman's dress, and tips her head consideringly. "That one's nice. How much is it?"
Sabitha hasn't even glanced at the price tag. She's gotten out of the habit, with Emma picking up the tab. "Oh.. um. Sixty," she offers after a moment. "Not bad. I kinda like it." She drapes it over her arm, and looks sideways at Leah. "Hell. Eight months, huh? And I think I've got it bad. If Rossi's a no go, we really need to find you someone."
Leah leans into the rack's central pole, not even pretending to look, or to swooning. Oh, the hard life of the reluctant celibate. "You probably know more guys -- ha, /decent/ guys I'd /consider/ -- at this point," she agrees. Then brightens. "Meet anyone in D.C.? I got your postcard! Thanks."
"You'd be surprised," Sabby replies dryly, and pauses in her looking as Leah does. "DC? Hell, no. Old, crabby politicians, mostly." A pause, and then she smiles slightly, the sort that says she's trying to keep from a silly grin. "Travis flew out to see me, the last couple days."
Leah croons a delighted hum. "/Did/ he."
Sabitha covers the silly grin (it wins out, despite her best efforts) by dipping her head to study the embroidery on a shirt. She nods. "Surprised me by showing up at breakfast. Barely got to see him, though, I was so busy."
Leah looks sad. "Not even a sound boinking in your hotel room?"
Sabitha gives Leah a Look, and intones lightly, "So, eight months, huh." Ok, maybe more 'pointedly' than 'lightly.'
Leah snorts and curls her lips in a knowing smile. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Kiss and tell another time, all right? We can trade, I /hope,/ if I get lucky. --Eight months," she confirms breezily and goes back to dress-racking. Maybe this brown one . . . "An associate producer from CNN, at the midtown studios. It turned into a game of Clue: Mr. White, in the editing booth, with the drool."
Sabitha laughs abruptly, and shakes her head. "I hope it was at least half decent?" she suggests, and then shakes her head. "Hell. We'll go clubbing sometime. Find you a good college guy. Not too hot - one of those middle of the road guys, who're so excited to get luck that they're /very/ attentive." Her brows waggle again, and then she holds the dress she's been carting up in front of her. "What do you think? Should I bother to get it?"
"Yes," Leah says firmly. "Yes to all of it! Let us go forth to a club and get me some frat-boy nookie, for God's sake. I can show him a thing or two, and he can keep up with me at that age. Bless the young; they don't know how good they got it." She dodges back for that black blouse, after all, and trails behind her, laughing, "And this will be a /fine/ dinner, Sabby. It will. Don't worry about bringing wine -- just yourself, and Travis, and a fightin' attitude."
Sabitha laughs briefly. "I've always got that. But no, I'm serious. We'll feel like proper guests if you let us bring some alcohol. And the more we've got to get smashed on, the better the evening will go, right?" she questions with a grin over her shoulder as she shuffles toward the register.
Leah joins the shuffle train thoughtfully. "I /suppose,/ but I'd planned to handle that with the meal. Don't get between an Italian and her cooking, man. But all right. Something red? Full-bodied, to go with the main course, but nothing too expensive. Enough," she notes archly, "for us to get drunk on without feeling bad about it."
Sabitha grins appropriately, and nods. "We'll bring two bottles, at least," she assures her. She shoves her dress across the counter at the cashier, and glances at Leah as she shuffles her card out. "Seriously. I'm looking forward to it."
Leah, alongside to wait her turn, lets her head tip forward and to one side, toward the other woman, and she looks a little tired, but a lot satisfied, now. "Me, too. Me, too." See? Shopping: the cure for all ills.
It only takes a few quick minutes to check out, and then Sabby turns, barely holding back a yawn. "Hey, I'm sorry to run out on you," she says. "But I'm dying here, and I've got work again in the morning. Give me a call and let me know when you wanna do dinner?"
Leah shakes her head, grimacing. "And I've got forty minutes on the train home, so -- yeah. Let's split. Thanks for the trip. You /are/ a trip," she grins. "And a good one. I needed it. I'm thinking a couple Sundays from now, depending on our schedules. I'll check with Rossi, you check with Travis, and we'll put our heads together on the phone." She hefts her purchase over her arm and lets out a breath. "And I'll try not to think of pretty college boys dancing in the clubs while I'm stuck up in my damn apartment."
Sabitha snorts quietly, and heads for the door. "Seriously. If you're really not into this Rossi guy, we'll find you at least someone to scratch the itch. I'll keep my eyes open for decent guys otherwise. Damn few as they are."
Leah follows cheerfully. "I am entirely in your hands, Sabitha Melcross . . . and you can tell him that, too. Preferably when he's got a big bite in his mouth."
Sabitha gives Leah a flirtatious wink. "Oh, Ms. Canto. I have more ability to shock and stun than you can /possibly/ imagine. I can't wait."
[Log ends.]
I'm so looking forward to the dinner. Need to check with Chris on times, start buying the ingredients, planning the meal.
And maybe by then, I'll have a firm contract approved on the shelters story so I'll have to reason to celebrate with too much wine and perhaps a discreet mauling of the nearest available man-flesh.
Eight months. Shit. That is too long.
7/5/2005
Logfile from Leah.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chinatown
The hub of Asian immigration is centered here in Chinatown, a dizzying array of shops and streetside markets selling fresh fish, jewelry, and all manner of oddities. Run through by the shopper's heaven of Canal Street, it's a well-populated area, with plenty other races intermingled with the largely Chinese and Japanese population, with those from Taiwan, Vietnam, and Cambodia as well. Dozens of restaurants open here, with neon signs in foreign characters and poor English attracting many each day for a slight taste of the exotic.
--
Chinatown is alight and alive with the evening, still early enough for some prime shopping to be done (especially the closing-hours please-take-our-merchandise-away sales!), but late enough to have driven off most of the tourists that regularly muck up the neighborhood with gawking and tripping over annoyed natives. One of the latter group, although not looking particularly annoyed, is loitering outside a relatively new shop that promises racks and racks of prime shopping, indeed, inside: gaudy clothing, gaudier jewelry, and all sorts of feminine niceties. Leah checks her watch, gives a bland smile to the suspicious boy hanging in the doorway (she coming in or not?), and scratches idly at her elbow.
Sabitha is tired. She's also late. These two things may possibly be related, but Sabby isn't likely to admit it. She dodges a late-lingering tourist in irriation, and then darts recklessly across the street toward Leah.
Leah sees her coming and is already at the door, politely ushering the boy aside (he sniffs and permits it, already on the look-out for the next customer) so she can grab it and hold it open for them. "I /just/ heard about this place from my friend Terry," is her merry greeting for the other woman. "She got this fabulous silk dress for about sixty bucks last week. Would've cost her ten times that on Madison or Park. I need something for a dinner coming up, so . . ."
"Yeah?" Sabby replies, tucking her purse tightly against her as she dodges one last person to draw in next to Leah and then ducking inside. "I'm always up for a good deal. And adding to my wardrobe."
"Excellent," declares Leah and lets the door swing shut behind them again. She pauses to take stock of the racks and shelves and such, and then dives for the glimmering shine of some silk blouses along one wall. "This is for dinner with /you./ You and your Travis." She holds up a striking crimson piece, with a wry little smile. "So, you know, I thought I should at least try to look decent. For first impressions and all."
Sabitha blinks sideways at Leah, and it takes her a moment to process that. "You're buying a new dress just to have dinner with us?" she questions, and then turns her attention to a rack with a wry smile. "Hell. Now I'll have to keep up, Leah. The /pressure/."
Leah laughs and puts the red shirt back. "No, no! Really, it's an excuse to dress up, but . . . oh, hell, I don't know. I just wanted to get out and do something besides staring at the walls or my writing, and shopping is fun, and . . . yeah." She puffs out a breath and tries another smile. "I wanted to make a good first impression for this guy, for you, since I'm the one hosting the fun. Nothing more than that, really. And nothing fancy! I promise. Then we won't have to worry about my marinara sauce dripping and ruining our nice new clothes."
Sabitha laughs shortly, and shakes her head. "Don't worry about it so much," she assures her. "Travis will like you just fine. He appreciates smart people." She rifles through a rack absently. "And if he doesn't, well. Screw him, eh?" She glance up, flashing a quick, teasing grin.
Leah snorts and, thus reassured, resumes digging, too. "What do you think of this yellow one? Too bright?" She holds it up against her chest for show. "Yeah, I worry too much. You know it. And that's not even getting into the guy I invited to make it four at the table." She sighs. "Me and my Emily Post etiquette."
Sabitha lifts a startled brow. "You're bringing a /date/?" she questions with a small smile, and then quickly shakes her head at the shirt. "Wow. This is turning out to be quite the to-do, huh? Should we bring some wine?"
"God. That's what /he/ said." Leah puts the blouse back, sending it on its way with a scowl that eases into an easier, rueful grimace. "I just wanted to have mixed company, all balanced, and he was the one guy I thought would say yes on a moment's notice. Please do me a favor by believing that," she begs, only half-joking.
Sabitha blinks at Leah over a shirt she's mulling over, and then slides it back to the rack. "I probably would've, until you begged me to," she states. "So there's obviously a story behind this guy. Spill."
Leah slants her a bright-squinted look. "Thanks," she says, and does so while absently picking between a softer yellow shirt and a plain black one. "I dated his brother about three years ago, for a year and a half. Not my finest moment, and I eventually dumped him. I'm still friends with their sister, but dropped out of touch for a while. And Gabe, my ex, got hit by a car, and his brother, Chris, calls to let me know. Cue arguing, snarking, and swearing at each other. Same old, same old, from every time we've ever been around each other."
Sabitha levels a considering glance on Leah. "Is he hot?" she questions blandly, shifting sideways to a new rack.
"Yes," Leah mutters like a curse, indeed, and holds out the black blouse for a closer look. "--Eh. You know. Tall, dark, and handsome. And Italian. And full of so much attitude, he practically needs an entourage to carry it around for him. Honestly, I should just sleep with him and get it over with, but he's so damned chivalrous, it would never happen. /And/ his mother would kill me. I think. Protective, you know."
"So don't tell her," Sabby suggests with a conspiratorially lifted brow. "And don't give /him/ the chance." She gives Leah a once-over. "Want me to talk to him? Honestly. More people outta just screw and get the hell over their issues."
Leah waggles the blouse in her hand so that it ripples between them, fluttering against her body like a shroud. "An end-run around Mom? Yeah, maybe. But what would you say to him?" She shifts to a hipshot stance, drawn in by conspiracy and her own, obvious half-horrified amusement at the situation. "--Did we just time-warp back to high school with this?"
Sabitha snorts quietly. "No. In high school, we probably wouldn't be pimping each other out for /actual/ sex," she answers, and shrugs absently as her fingers wander through a rack of shirts. "I'd say 'Leah's horny as hell, you're hot and we assume straight. Be a nice guy and do a girl a favor." She pauses to give Leah a saucy wink. "I could also talk about how you're wild in bed and let his imagination run a bit wild."
Leah chokes on a laugh that she then lets free, what the hell. "Oh, /do./ Straight-edged, law-and-order Detective Christopher Rossi? He'd die. Try to glower you to death. Or lock you up as a maniac." She puts the black back only reluctantly and wanders on, still grinning to herself. "You're right about high school, anyway. At least now, we have a much better chance of getting laid. And liking it. One can hope." She fakes a swoon against the next rack. "But it's been so looooong, Sabby. Damn. If I can even consider that prick, and the guy attached to it . . ."
"Should I make it my goal to shock him senseless, then?" Sabby questions with a grinning waggle of her brows, following after Leah. She settles her expression and steps sideways around a rack. "That bad, huh? Why'd you invite him to dinner, then?" A pause, and she asks again, "Dare I ask how long?"
Leah chuckles anew. "Oh, if you want the entertainment, please do, please do. I'll have to leap in and take your side, and that will only make it worse. Mmm." The thought moves her to the next rack, where she stops to pick through the dresses there. And she makes a face back at Sabby. "How long? Hell. Six months? Eight? And /that/ was not satisfying, I do assure you. Intermittent hook-ups after work really suck after a while. So maybe I'm on the prowl for more . . . but that's not why Rossi got invited." She sighs, broods at the dresses. "I hope not anyway. What do I do if my subconscious is sabotaging me?"
Sabitha mms quietly, and pulls out a dress to study it more carefully. "I'll play it by ear," she answers after a moment. "Although I have to admit, shocking him is /terribly/ tempting. I don't get to do it /nearly/ often enough." She pauses, looking up to watch Leah as she speaks. "Hell. Yeah. If it's something more, I definitely can't help you out." She pauses, and ponders. "Well. If you like, I'll give you a full rundown of my impression after dinner? We can see if this Rossi fellow is worth half a look."
"Thanks," Leah returns quietly, with obvious (and frustrated) feeling. Her fingers might be wandering through the rack, but she's not seeing much of it. She does glance over at the other woman's dress, and tips her head consideringly. "That one's nice. How much is it?"
Sabitha hasn't even glanced at the price tag. She's gotten out of the habit, with Emma picking up the tab. "Oh.. um. Sixty," she offers after a moment. "Not bad. I kinda like it." She drapes it over her arm, and looks sideways at Leah. "Hell. Eight months, huh? And I think I've got it bad. If Rossi's a no go, we really need to find you someone."
Leah leans into the rack's central pole, not even pretending to look, or to swooning. Oh, the hard life of the reluctant celibate. "You probably know more guys -- ha, /decent/ guys I'd /consider/ -- at this point," she agrees. Then brightens. "Meet anyone in D.C.? I got your postcard! Thanks."
"You'd be surprised," Sabby replies dryly, and pauses in her looking as Leah does. "DC? Hell, no. Old, crabby politicians, mostly." A pause, and then she smiles slightly, the sort that says she's trying to keep from a silly grin. "Travis flew out to see me, the last couple days."
Leah croons a delighted hum. "/Did/ he."
Sabitha covers the silly grin (it wins out, despite her best efforts) by dipping her head to study the embroidery on a shirt. She nods. "Surprised me by showing up at breakfast. Barely got to see him, though, I was so busy."
Leah looks sad. "Not even a sound boinking in your hotel room?"
Sabitha gives Leah a Look, and intones lightly, "So, eight months, huh." Ok, maybe more 'pointedly' than 'lightly.'
Leah snorts and curls her lips in a knowing smile. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Kiss and tell another time, all right? We can trade, I /hope,/ if I get lucky. --Eight months," she confirms breezily and goes back to dress-racking. Maybe this brown one . . . "An associate producer from CNN, at the midtown studios. It turned into a game of Clue: Mr. White, in the editing booth, with the drool."
Sabitha laughs abruptly, and shakes her head. "I hope it was at least half decent?" she suggests, and then shakes her head. "Hell. We'll go clubbing sometime. Find you a good college guy. Not too hot - one of those middle of the road guys, who're so excited to get luck that they're /very/ attentive." Her brows waggle again, and then she holds the dress she's been carting up in front of her. "What do you think? Should I bother to get it?"
"Yes," Leah says firmly. "Yes to all of it! Let us go forth to a club and get me some frat-boy nookie, for God's sake. I can show him a thing or two, and he can keep up with me at that age. Bless the young; they don't know how good they got it." She dodges back for that black blouse, after all, and trails behind her, laughing, "And this will be a /fine/ dinner, Sabby. It will. Don't worry about bringing wine -- just yourself, and Travis, and a fightin' attitude."
Sabitha laughs briefly. "I've always got that. But no, I'm serious. We'll feel like proper guests if you let us bring some alcohol. And the more we've got to get smashed on, the better the evening will go, right?" she questions with a grin over her shoulder as she shuffles toward the register.
Leah joins the shuffle train thoughtfully. "I /suppose,/ but I'd planned to handle that with the meal. Don't get between an Italian and her cooking, man. But all right. Something red? Full-bodied, to go with the main course, but nothing too expensive. Enough," she notes archly, "for us to get drunk on without feeling bad about it."
Sabitha grins appropriately, and nods. "We'll bring two bottles, at least," she assures her. She shoves her dress across the counter at the cashier, and glances at Leah as she shuffles her card out. "Seriously. I'm looking forward to it."
Leah, alongside to wait her turn, lets her head tip forward and to one side, toward the other woman, and she looks a little tired, but a lot satisfied, now. "Me, too. Me, too." See? Shopping: the cure for all ills.
It only takes a few quick minutes to check out, and then Sabby turns, barely holding back a yawn. "Hey, I'm sorry to run out on you," she says. "But I'm dying here, and I've got work again in the morning. Give me a call and let me know when you wanna do dinner?"
Leah shakes her head, grimacing. "And I've got forty minutes on the train home, so -- yeah. Let's split. Thanks for the trip. You /are/ a trip," she grins. "And a good one. I needed it. I'm thinking a couple Sundays from now, depending on our schedules. I'll check with Rossi, you check with Travis, and we'll put our heads together on the phone." She hefts her purchase over her arm and lets out a breath. "And I'll try not to think of pretty college boys dancing in the clubs while I'm stuck up in my damn apartment."
Sabitha snorts quietly, and heads for the door. "Seriously. If you're really not into this Rossi guy, we'll find you at least someone to scratch the itch. I'll keep my eyes open for decent guys otherwise. Damn few as they are."
Leah follows cheerfully. "I am entirely in your hands, Sabitha Melcross . . . and you can tell him that, too. Preferably when he's got a big bite in his mouth."
Sabitha gives Leah a flirtatious wink. "Oh, Ms. Canto. I have more ability to shock and stun than you can /possibly/ imagine. I can't wait."
[Log ends.]