Boss
More training.
Yes. And soon, before she thinks she can get away with anything just because she's become my personal convenience.
4/17/2006
Logfile from Shaw of X-Men MUCK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evening again, even if with the changing of the season, the light outside does not not so closely mirror the slow settling of the office into silence. Zenith offers friendly good-byes to those who trickle past the desk, but remains stubbornly at her computer, frowning with intensity of one who is skating dangerously close to an important deadline at a game of solitare. Once silence has truly descended, she stand, stretches, and shrugs off her suit jacket to bare her light blue tank. Abandoning the jacket, she strides down the hall to a certain office door, and knocks.
Paper shuffling, the clicking clatter of a hung-up phone receiver, a chair's faintly squeaking swivel. Then Shaw's voice, distracted but not darkened by the long day or the interruption: "Yeah. Come in."
Zenith does not, prefering to hang teasingly against the jamb once she's opened the door. "Hey," she says, polite smile to match her polite knock wavering and then blooming into a full smirk. "Working late again, I see," she comments. "Thought I'd stop by. Since I was...still around." Conveniently, one of her bra straps has slipped out from under the strap of her tank, and she smooths it back into place.
Looking up from his desk's clutter (100% less today!), Shaw gets his attention snagged on the bra strap and its tidying, then skips his eyes up to hers with a slight frown. "So I see," he replies politely, too. Everyone's polite. Polite, polite, polite. "Did you need something?"
Zenith blinks and straightens so that she's no longer leaning against the door. After that first moment of confusion, her first impulse is to look down the hallway behind her. No one. She turns a frown back to Shaw. "No? Just to, you know--chat." After the pause, the word ends up being delivered without a tone of innuendo but it slips back in for her next statement. "Anything I can help with?"
She gets a head-shake for an answer, but Shaw waves her inside all the same. He spends a minute sorting through the open file folder in front of him, humming a little -- starts signing a paper, glances at its reverse, nods to himself, and finishes the signature. He's sleekly groomed, professionally dressed, coolly composed. "What did you want to chat about, Zoe?"
Zenith hesitates before coming in, and she's careful to shut the door behind her. "There's nobody around," she remarks, apropos of nothing, her expression would have him believe. She stands for a few seconds leaning on her hands on the back of the guest chair, just watching him. "Really busy?" she asks, frowning as she tries to reconcile that possibility with his manner.
"No," Shaw admits readily and looks up again. The overheads sheen his eyes blackly blank and catch glistening highlights in the even white teeth he gives her in a tight smile. "I mean, I am, I always am, but if one of my employees wants to talk, why, my door is always open. Is something wrong? Let me guess: Joseph Williamson. Something with him?"
Zenith sits, but has lost her composure sufficiently to screw up her attempt to be sensuous about crossing her legs. "Is that what you're worried about?" she asks. "Joe and I are done. We had the freaking annoying break-up argument and everything like that." She fidgets with her hands uncomfortably in her lap.
Now Shaw chuckles and, closing the folder, rests his hands lightly on the smooth manila surface. "No, I'm not worried about him. I just thought you were. Come to chat with your good girlfriend about what horrible creatures men can be." He hoists his brows conspiratorially. "Well?"
Zenith eyes Shaw suddenly, and something in her posture relaxes. "Horrible creatures? Men? Where do I even start?" Her smile matches the playful glint to her eyes. "I mean, you have to just hate the way that they try to play hard to get. That's the woman's job." She grins.
Darkling eyes hood. "So I've heard," Shaw says neutrally. He watches her a moment, then hitches a shrug. "But women aren't very good at it, in my experience. A man who tries hard enough /can/ get them."
Zenith raises a brow. "I could say the same thing, only for women. We're the more subtle manipulators, after all." She leans forward, resting an elbow on her thigh and her chin in that hand. "Is it the challenge, then? I'd have thought chaser would always be more interesting than chased."
"Chaser is plenty interesting," Shaw assures her and sits back in response. His chair squeaks a muted protest, but too damned bad: a-leaning they will go. "It's really all I know, though, so I probably shouldn't say any more. You get chased. You tell me how it is."
Zenith laughs and sits back up, running fingers through the loose part of her hair. "Depends. Sometimes you want to see how much someone cares, sometimes you just want the anticipation." She grins. "Get the blood hot. More fun than testing someone." She shrugs. "Always the chance they don't care enough. Very disappointing."
"Or maybe they have other things on their mind." Shaw hooks his elbows on the arm rests and blends fingers together in a loose lattice. Tightness in his voice, however, and in the lined skin around his eyes. "Like testing. Like -- anticipation from the other side. Seeing what a word will do: what about this one? Or this one? And so on." His mouth flattens a smile to a thin arc. "Twitch the lead-line, see how the filly will jump; and if she won't, well, maybe you have some more training to do on her."
Zenith is silent for a few moments as she reviews the words. "Just who's chasing and who's being chased in that situation?" she asks with light, but slightly confused, humor. After a moment, she succeeds in pushing the confusion all into amusement. "Training? Sounds serious." After a moment, she laughs. "Guess not, though. Chicks talk about 'training' guys properly all the time."
After a snort, Shaw points out, "You came to see me -- but we aren't speaking hypothetically? Generically? Oh, my. I've been giving away all the huntsman's secrets. Now I'll have to kill you. So sorry, dear girl."
Zenith flicks an errant lock of hair back behind her shoulder and settles back a little, losing the last hint of flirtaciousness to her posture, even going so far as to be pointedly bland. "Who enforces that, anyway? I know I've given away female trade secrets, but who's the, like, central female or male authority that sends out people to slap your wrist? They must be very secrective."
"That would get both of us killed," says Shaw, and then he grins suddenly and slouches lower in the chair. "I'm not being any fun right now, am I? Sorry. You want to play, and I . . ."
Zenith's smile changes to something more thoughtful. "I did," she admits. "Everybody has their off days, though." She shrugs. "You could have said. I don't want to make a pushy bitch of myself." She sticks the tip of her tongue out at him.
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it." Shaw tilts his shoulders and looks rueful. His voice swings low, rough and lazy with inland accenting. "Didn't want to disappoint you, maybe? It's something a man thinks about, sometimes."
Zenith brightens noticeably, and waves that away. "Don't worry about it." She smirks. "And hey, if you can disappoint someone at least you're doing something right that they'll miss, yeah?" Despite her protestations, she looks at him a little wistfully and doesn't stand or make any move to leave, just yet.
Quietly Shaw looks back, his mouth tilted now at a queer angle. He smooths it out with, "Can I do something to make you feel better, at least? Before you go?" He does look regretful now, tired and a little sad for what he's done. Been.
Zenith wrinkles her nose at him. "Nah." She gets to her feet, fidgeting with the truly accidental escape of a strap this time. "Just don't make a habit of it," she says, carefully making the joking tone blatant. She hesitates, and then instead of moving towards the door, she comes over to give him a quick peck of a kiss on the lips. She straightens quickly from the impulsive gesture.
"I'll do my best," Shaw promises after the kiss, which leaves him quiet still, but in a pleased way, as smugly self-contented as an oyster. He captures her hand for a squeeze, then lets go. Slaps her on the ass, too. "But off you go, unless you want to keep me here all night, and this tired old warhorse needs his beauty sleep, okay?"
Zenith squeaks pleased surprise at the slap, and grins as she walks out, a bit of a hip sway back in her step. "Sleep well!" she teases as she lets herself out and finally leaves him in peace for the evening.
[Log ends.]
Yes. And soon, before she thinks she can get away with anything just because she's become my personal convenience.
4/17/2006
Logfile from Shaw of X-Men MUCK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Evening again, even if with the changing of the season, the light outside does not not so closely mirror the slow settling of the office into silence. Zenith offers friendly good-byes to those who trickle past the desk, but remains stubbornly at her computer, frowning with intensity of one who is skating dangerously close to an important deadline at a game of solitare. Once silence has truly descended, she stand, stretches, and shrugs off her suit jacket to bare her light blue tank. Abandoning the jacket, she strides down the hall to a certain office door, and knocks.
Paper shuffling, the clicking clatter of a hung-up phone receiver, a chair's faintly squeaking swivel. Then Shaw's voice, distracted but not darkened by the long day or the interruption: "Yeah. Come in."
Zenith does not, prefering to hang teasingly against the jamb once she's opened the door. "Hey," she says, polite smile to match her polite knock wavering and then blooming into a full smirk. "Working late again, I see," she comments. "Thought I'd stop by. Since I was...still around." Conveniently, one of her bra straps has slipped out from under the strap of her tank, and she smooths it back into place.
Looking up from his desk's clutter (100% less today!), Shaw gets his attention snagged on the bra strap and its tidying, then skips his eyes up to hers with a slight frown. "So I see," he replies politely, too. Everyone's polite. Polite, polite, polite. "Did you need something?"
Zenith blinks and straightens so that she's no longer leaning against the door. After that first moment of confusion, her first impulse is to look down the hallway behind her. No one. She turns a frown back to Shaw. "No? Just to, you know--chat." After the pause, the word ends up being delivered without a tone of innuendo but it slips back in for her next statement. "Anything I can help with?"
She gets a head-shake for an answer, but Shaw waves her inside all the same. He spends a minute sorting through the open file folder in front of him, humming a little -- starts signing a paper, glances at its reverse, nods to himself, and finishes the signature. He's sleekly groomed, professionally dressed, coolly composed. "What did you want to chat about, Zoe?"
Zenith hesitates before coming in, and she's careful to shut the door behind her. "There's nobody around," she remarks, apropos of nothing, her expression would have him believe. She stands for a few seconds leaning on her hands on the back of the guest chair, just watching him. "Really busy?" she asks, frowning as she tries to reconcile that possibility with his manner.
"No," Shaw admits readily and looks up again. The overheads sheen his eyes blackly blank and catch glistening highlights in the even white teeth he gives her in a tight smile. "I mean, I am, I always am, but if one of my employees wants to talk, why, my door is always open. Is something wrong? Let me guess: Joseph Williamson. Something with him?"
Zenith sits, but has lost her composure sufficiently to screw up her attempt to be sensuous about crossing her legs. "Is that what you're worried about?" she asks. "Joe and I are done. We had the freaking annoying break-up argument and everything like that." She fidgets with her hands uncomfortably in her lap.
Now Shaw chuckles and, closing the folder, rests his hands lightly on the smooth manila surface. "No, I'm not worried about him. I just thought you were. Come to chat with your good girlfriend about what horrible creatures men can be." He hoists his brows conspiratorially. "Well?"
Zenith eyes Shaw suddenly, and something in her posture relaxes. "Horrible creatures? Men? Where do I even start?" Her smile matches the playful glint to her eyes. "I mean, you have to just hate the way that they try to play hard to get. That's the woman's job." She grins.
Darkling eyes hood. "So I've heard," Shaw says neutrally. He watches her a moment, then hitches a shrug. "But women aren't very good at it, in my experience. A man who tries hard enough /can/ get them."
Zenith raises a brow. "I could say the same thing, only for women. We're the more subtle manipulators, after all." She leans forward, resting an elbow on her thigh and her chin in that hand. "Is it the challenge, then? I'd have thought chaser would always be more interesting than chased."
"Chaser is plenty interesting," Shaw assures her and sits back in response. His chair squeaks a muted protest, but too damned bad: a-leaning they will go. "It's really all I know, though, so I probably shouldn't say any more. You get chased. You tell me how it is."
Zenith laughs and sits back up, running fingers through the loose part of her hair. "Depends. Sometimes you want to see how much someone cares, sometimes you just want the anticipation." She grins. "Get the blood hot. More fun than testing someone." She shrugs. "Always the chance they don't care enough. Very disappointing."
"Or maybe they have other things on their mind." Shaw hooks his elbows on the arm rests and blends fingers together in a loose lattice. Tightness in his voice, however, and in the lined skin around his eyes. "Like testing. Like -- anticipation from the other side. Seeing what a word will do: what about this one? Or this one? And so on." His mouth flattens a smile to a thin arc. "Twitch the lead-line, see how the filly will jump; and if she won't, well, maybe you have some more training to do on her."
Zenith is silent for a few moments as she reviews the words. "Just who's chasing and who's being chased in that situation?" she asks with light, but slightly confused, humor. After a moment, she succeeds in pushing the confusion all into amusement. "Training? Sounds serious." After a moment, she laughs. "Guess not, though. Chicks talk about 'training' guys properly all the time."
After a snort, Shaw points out, "You came to see me -- but we aren't speaking hypothetically? Generically? Oh, my. I've been giving away all the huntsman's secrets. Now I'll have to kill you. So sorry, dear girl."
Zenith flicks an errant lock of hair back behind her shoulder and settles back a little, losing the last hint of flirtaciousness to her posture, even going so far as to be pointedly bland. "Who enforces that, anyway? I know I've given away female trade secrets, but who's the, like, central female or male authority that sends out people to slap your wrist? They must be very secrective."
"That would get both of us killed," says Shaw, and then he grins suddenly and slouches lower in the chair. "I'm not being any fun right now, am I? Sorry. You want to play, and I . . ."
Zenith's smile changes to something more thoughtful. "I did," she admits. "Everybody has their off days, though." She shrugs. "You could have said. I don't want to make a pushy bitch of myself." She sticks the tip of her tongue out at him.
"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it." Shaw tilts his shoulders and looks rueful. His voice swings low, rough and lazy with inland accenting. "Didn't want to disappoint you, maybe? It's something a man thinks about, sometimes."
Zenith brightens noticeably, and waves that away. "Don't worry about it." She smirks. "And hey, if you can disappoint someone at least you're doing something right that they'll miss, yeah?" Despite her protestations, she looks at him a little wistfully and doesn't stand or make any move to leave, just yet.
Quietly Shaw looks back, his mouth tilted now at a queer angle. He smooths it out with, "Can I do something to make you feel better, at least? Before you go?" He does look regretful now, tired and a little sad for what he's done. Been.
Zenith wrinkles her nose at him. "Nah." She gets to her feet, fidgeting with the truly accidental escape of a strap this time. "Just don't make a habit of it," she says, carefully making the joking tone blatant. She hesitates, and then instead of moving towards the door, she comes over to give him a quick peck of a kiss on the lips. She straightens quickly from the impulsive gesture.
"I'll do my best," Shaw promises after the kiss, which leaves him quiet still, but in a pleased way, as smugly self-contented as an oyster. He captures her hand for a squeeze, then lets go. Slaps her on the ass, too. "But off you go, unless you want to keep me here all night, and this tired old warhorse needs his beauty sleep, okay?"
Zenith squeaks pleased surprise at the slap, and grins as she walks out, a bit of a hip sway back in her step. "Sleep well!" she teases as she lets herself out and finally leaves him in peace for the evening.
[Log ends.]