Brats
If I am suspicious, it's because that's kept me alive so far. A woman of her caliber, repeatedly surprising me in my private quarters? What else am I supposed to think, White Rook? Not there for the pleasure of my company, oh, no.
Bells. I'll institute a new dress code that requires all nosy, persistent women in the Circle to wear bells around their necks. Won't do anything to address the problem, but it has a nicely high-handed, overwrought, and passive-aggressive flair that I like.
I did miss her.
5/1/2006
Logfile from Shaw of X-Men MUCK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hellfire Clubhouse - Shaw's Office
Ebony, sable, and jet: black defines this capacious room, making its modern furniture all the more sleek and its softening touches all the more deep. A desk dominates the space with massive construction and shining-clean top, empty of all but a silvery computer's flat-panel monitor, slim tower, and keyboard. A high-backed Aeron chair looms behind the desk, lording over the two guest chairs on the opposite side. A wet bar stands against the wall opposite the desk, next to a single armchair.
One entire wall lies shrouded in black velvet; whether the drapes cover only wall or windows as well stays hidden. A miniature marble obelisk, fully six feet high, guards a corner between the office's two doors, its sloping sides and pyramidal peak gleaming darkly pristine but for stray chips and scuff marks. The rest of the room is its own adornment: crown-molded white ceiling, pale-rose silk wallpaper, and lush black carpet interwoven with tiny scarlet diamonds.
--
Tap, tap, tap. Delicate fingers, nails rimmed in red nail-polish, tap a tiny glass bottle against Shaw's desk. The door to the Black King's office has been picked and is now unlocked, the door left just slightly open, as if it did not catch when whoever used it last swung it shut. Tyanna sits upon the King's desk, careful not to mar paperwork. A sleeveless white blouse shows off her tan, deeper and more golden than before. A pencil skirt reveals legs crossed in a ladylike fashion, one heeled sandal tapping against the side of the desk in time with the bottle. Tilting her head back to peer at the ceiling, Ty's expression mingles boredom with impatience.
And the sound of rushing water mingles with those glassy tip-taps: the shower deeper in the suite, past the bedroom's half-open door. Musky humidity seeps into the office, but only faintly before the shower cuts off, leaving heavy silence punctuated by a few minutes of quiet, unhurried grooming and dressing noises. Finally the bedroom door swings further open, hooked by a nimble bare foot, and Shaw pauses on the threshold to study what the kitty-cat has dragged in. "Tyanna," he greets without much surprise, after the initial jump of eyes' and breath's reaction to the intrusion, and sighs and pulls back his hair over the half-buttoned hang of his pale-blue dress shirt atop khaki slacks. "I might have guessed -- what do you want?"
"The first time you've seen your first mate in more than two months, and that's all you can say? 'What do you want'? I'd ask if you missed me, but I know better." Tyanna retorts, amusement apparent in her voice. A tilt of her head as she flashes a smile at him, placing the bottle in her lap, still holding it loosely. "I heard the water running, and thought it might be better to wait here rather than in your bedroom." Her eyes are drawn away from the figure before her and down to the glass bottle, one thumb playing with the cork for a few seconds before she meets his eyes again, merriment still in hers. "The truth is, I got back into town yesterday and thought I'd say hello."
Shaw just looks as resigned as he sounds, or perhaps dragged out from weariness, which certainly marks him: a more haggard cast to his face, a slouch to shoulders and spine. "I missed you," he tells her sincerely as he makes his way to the desk and kicks out the chair to take his slumping weight. He tips his head back into the creaking leather, regarding her from under half-closed eyelids. "Any member of the Inner Circle who leaves my immediate area gets missed, and for my own first mate, why, of course I care that much more." Sarcasm flirts lightly through his low voice and smears a thin smile across his mouth. "So, you're here to say hello. Hello, Tyanna. Glad you're back in town. What's in the bottle?"
A low laugh follows Shaw's words as Ty spins on the desk to face him, her legs dangling next to his chair. "I missed you too." she admits, her smile becoming more gentle for an instant. The bottle is held out, as it appears to be filled with white sand. "I'm told that when one visits the beach, it's traditional to gather sand for those who don't get to go. The Caymans are a lovely place. This, however, reminded me of you when I saw it." Out of her pocket comes an obsidian arrowhead, placed delicately on the desk. "I found it on Cayman Brac. It's quite sharp." Her chocolate eyes narrow as she takes in Shaw's more haggard expression. "I'd have brought you a Caymanian woman, but I hear that kidnapping is frowned upon in our social circles." she teases with a delicate air.
"Sand . . . ah," and Shaw's face briefly relaxes, nearly softens, as he takes the bottle and tips it this way and that before him. Folding his hand around it, now in firm possession on the armrest, he trains his eyes on the arrowhead, then flips them up, amused, to Tyanna's. "You are forever bringing me weapons, aren't you, White Rook? The cutlass and now this little thing. I don't know if it's Freudian or just spooky. But thank you. Thank you for all of it, even the idea of a woman for my very own." He snorts and leans back, stretching his legs out under the desk. "Do you think I need one? Are you trying to say something?"
Tyanna shakes her head and puts a mock-innocent expression on her face, smiling brightly. "Can I help it if I think of you every time I see something sharp?" she inquires, one eye closing in a brief wink. "And you're quite welcome. I'm sure you're quite capable of finding your own women, Sebastian. But the amusement factor in dropping a female in your lap as a gift wasn't lost on me." Swinging one leg in a careless fashion, she leans back, her hands propping her up as she regards him. "If you're ever of a mind to take a vacation, I recommend the Caymans. Delightful people. Helpful, warm, and more than willing to let you alone if that's what you like."
"And is that what you wanted?" Shaw ripostes, ignoring the rest. He hoods his eyes again and interlaces his fingers over his belly, the bottle of sand caught in that net. "You come, you go, come and go -- the rest of us can't keep up with you, my dear. We envy you such freedom! Unless you were acting on orders . . . ?"
"Perhaps that's the way I prefer it." Tyanna suggests gently, her expression softening, then returning to its usual more playful guise. "The Caymans have branches of many banks on them. French, Swiss, Canadian. If Emma asks me to do a spot of work for her, especially in such a lovely place, I won't refuse her. It was on her ticket, after all." The last is said with a touch of satisfaction as she grins at the King opposite her.
"Mmm. Yes, I'm familiar with the Caymans' specialty." Shaw tilts further back in the chair, slides further down, too, until he's a sink of rumpled business clothes and lazy limbs. He wonders, a little tragically, "Do I get to find out what you two clucking hens are up to?"
A mischevious glint appears in Tyanna's eyes. "Why, what all women do. Seducing men and stealing their money. Then hiding it in Swiss bank accounts." she teases, a predatory smile dancing its way across her features, then she tilts her head and offers him a far more gentle smile. "Honestly, dear Black King, I was simply transferring monies between accounts. And took advantage of the opportunity to sneak in a day or two of vacation for myself, I might add. I'd have asked you to come, but I suspected your supply of flowery shirts was probably limited."
Shaw informs her, "You could always break in here and check my closet for yourself." His gaze slips past her, toward the opened office door; irritation fleetingly tightens his expression, though he smooths it away, drives it under the bantering charm of his reply. "Curiosity killed the cat -- forgive me for asking. I do like knowing what's going on in my Circle. All the better to see threats coming, wouldn't you say?"
Tyanna follows his gaze towards the door and back again, a somewhat admonished expression on her face, her statement more serious. "All right. Next time I'll knock. Or give you written notice of the break-in. I promise." Promise made, she nods, her teasing tone back. "I think there should be a motion made in the Circle that threats should be submitted in triplicate. With at least ten business days to act upon it. Make things much more simple."
"It troubles the pawns," Shaw says with a shrug, dismissive rather than apologetic even after her promise. "And me. If I can't trust that I have /one/ place of sanctuary in this world . . ." He unlaces his fingers in a hands-spread gesture of emptiness, helplessness, then drops the bottle of sand into his lap. Does not match the teasing: too tired for it, too serious. "Bring it up at the next meeting and see how it goes. If only, Tyanna, but you know how this business really works. 'Simple' isn't anywhere in the rules."
"Sometimes I wish it was, but then it wouldn't be business, and anyone could be successful at it." Tyanna responds, sliding off of Shaw's desk and taking a moment to pull her skirt back down to where it should be. "I'll start calling first, really." is the next offer, made as she leans on the desk for support. "I.." she stops herself, tugs at her clothing a tad self-consciously, and then offers him a sincere smile. "It's late, Sebastian, and I need my beauty sleep. I should probably go."
Shaw doesn't return the smile, but does look chagrined, fleetingly, before his expression closes down again, all hard features and half-shuttered eyes. "Do you know," he begins conversationally, "what your mistress calls me? Melodramatic. I brood, too. I'm brooding now. And driving you right out of the room with it." He pulls himself up slowly, with a few muted joint pops, to sitting, puts the bottle of sand carefully on the desk beside the arrowhead, and tips a long look up at the White Rook. "You don't have to leave." Quietly; passively. "Or call ahead first. That isn't a problem."
"I believe she's called me that once or twice as well. And a few other choice words when I manage to raise her temper." Her expression perfectly serious, Tyanna kneels on the carpet, sitting on her heels. Her hands rest on the armrest nearest her, her chin propped up on them as she gazes upwards at Shaw. "You don't drive me away." is the reply, soft almost to the point of being inaudible. "What is it that you brood about?"
"Life," is Shaw's cheerful response, and he bares a death's-head smile for her, so near. "It isn't important, though. It's private, and it's personal, and it'll pass." He leans his head into a propped hand, its fingers digging into his damp, tousled hair. His eyes fall on her like small black stones. "What were you going to say a minute ago? 'I--' what?"
Tyanna returns the smile, hers more cheerful and unafraid of this rather evil smile in front of her. "I was about to ask what was wrong. But as you said, it's personal, and I didn't want to pry." Her eyes flick over to the office door and back again. "Believe it or not, I don't always just barge into people's private affairs." Gaze gliding over his face, she remarks, "You could catch cold if you go to bed with your hair damp like that."
Shaw snorts. "It'll dry before I get anywhere near my bed. I still have a couple hours of email to catch up on." He tilts his propped head slightly toward the computer monitor (turned off, still and dark). "Then why do you come in to see me like this?" he asks curiously. Warily, perhaps, by the tension in his tone: habit, must be; the legacy of long years in Hellfire's burning heart. "To keep me on my toes? One of these days, you're going to surprise me into a heart attack, see if you don't, little girl."
Tyanna's eyes close and open slowly, almost sleepy. "How was I supposed to know you weren't in a good mood? I just got in last night, remember. I certainly didn't know you'd be in the shower. On the bright side, at least you had a robe on when you came into the office." She rises up from her sitting position to a kneeling one, propping herself up with her elbows on the armrest. "If I'd wanted to give you a heart attack, I'd have run into the bathroom while you were showering and screamed with all my might." A devilish smile appears for a moment. "But such a thing, while extremely rude and childish, probably would also constitute taking my life into my own hands."
"Something like that," Shaw agrees, not quite smiling, and twitches his free hand closer to him, away from her and possible temptation of one sort or another. "I even put on actual clothes, not just the robe, this time, too. Feel flattered. You didn't answer my question, though: why do you break in to see me? In fact, why do you come to see me at all? My charming wit and staggering good looks, no doubt."
Tyanna shrugs, then looks away while she thinks. "I know you're looking for a deeper purpose here, Sebastian, but I don't have one for you. Frankly, I wanted to see you and simply have a conversation without letting most of the Club know, and this was the most direct way to do it. But I've been a good girl and said I shan't do it again." With this, she leans forward and places a very light peck on his cheek, by way of apology. "I -am- sorry if I startled you."
"That's answer enough," Shaw gives her, mollified and as close as apologetic as he's going to get on the subject this evening. "I'll try to stop seeing conspiracies around every corner. That's unfair to both of us." He touches his cheek then, where she kissed it, and crooks his mouth. "Just like that's unfair. Playing sweet on someone like me? Devilish of you."
"Too true. I rarely engage in conspiracy. I prefer making solitary trouble." Tyanna offers. She tilts her head to one side and beams at him with a perfectly innocent smile, though the look doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm not really sweet, and you know it. But if you would prefer I apologize a different way, I'm open to suggestions."
Definite wariness now, leavened only slightly by his dry tone. "As long as it doesn't involve weapons, nudity, or both. No, we're fine, Tyanna. Aren't we?"
A snap of her fingers, and a shadow of disappointment crosses Tyanna's face. "You block my other ideas before I get to them, Captain." she says, amusement back in her voice, along with a soft laugh. Leaning forward just a bit, she confides, "We're just fine, and I really am going to bed now." Rising to her feet, she stretches to relieve muscles tensed from kneeling.
"I've got enough problems," Shaw lofts after her, "without getting involved with my darling Queen's darling Rook in /any/ way beyond the professional. I don't even want to think about it, as much as I enjoy your company." And her stretch, since his eyes don't appear to mind following it with leisurely appreciation. "Go to bed, then, and dream of those beaches." He grins for a second, brows arched rakishly. "And storming them at the head of a crew of pillaging pirates."
"Oh, so now I'm her -darling- Rook, am I? The word I get most often is 'pet'." Said in a good-natured way, Tyanna starts for the door. "When she's not using words like 'dramatic' and 'brat'." One hand on the doorknob, she turns to face him again. "Dream of soaking up the sun and drinking rum. Perhaps I'll get a house there. I could pass for a native. Then I could pillage the other islands at my leisure." A smirk and a wink later, she's out the door, careful to close it after her.
[Log ends.]
Bells. I'll institute a new dress code that requires all nosy, persistent women in the Circle to wear bells around their necks. Won't do anything to address the problem, but it has a nicely high-handed, overwrought, and passive-aggressive flair that I like.
I did miss her.
5/1/2006
Logfile from Shaw of X-Men MUCK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hellfire Clubhouse - Shaw's Office
Ebony, sable, and jet: black defines this capacious room, making its modern furniture all the more sleek and its softening touches all the more deep. A desk dominates the space with massive construction and shining-clean top, empty of all but a silvery computer's flat-panel monitor, slim tower, and keyboard. A high-backed Aeron chair looms behind the desk, lording over the two guest chairs on the opposite side. A wet bar stands against the wall opposite the desk, next to a single armchair.
One entire wall lies shrouded in black velvet; whether the drapes cover only wall or windows as well stays hidden. A miniature marble obelisk, fully six feet high, guards a corner between the office's two doors, its sloping sides and pyramidal peak gleaming darkly pristine but for stray chips and scuff marks. The rest of the room is its own adornment: crown-molded white ceiling, pale-rose silk wallpaper, and lush black carpet interwoven with tiny scarlet diamonds.
--
Tap, tap, tap. Delicate fingers, nails rimmed in red nail-polish, tap a tiny glass bottle against Shaw's desk. The door to the Black King's office has been picked and is now unlocked, the door left just slightly open, as if it did not catch when whoever used it last swung it shut. Tyanna sits upon the King's desk, careful not to mar paperwork. A sleeveless white blouse shows off her tan, deeper and more golden than before. A pencil skirt reveals legs crossed in a ladylike fashion, one heeled sandal tapping against the side of the desk in time with the bottle. Tilting her head back to peer at the ceiling, Ty's expression mingles boredom with impatience.
And the sound of rushing water mingles with those glassy tip-taps: the shower deeper in the suite, past the bedroom's half-open door. Musky humidity seeps into the office, but only faintly before the shower cuts off, leaving heavy silence punctuated by a few minutes of quiet, unhurried grooming and dressing noises. Finally the bedroom door swings further open, hooked by a nimble bare foot, and Shaw pauses on the threshold to study what the kitty-cat has dragged in. "Tyanna," he greets without much surprise, after the initial jump of eyes' and breath's reaction to the intrusion, and sighs and pulls back his hair over the half-buttoned hang of his pale-blue dress shirt atop khaki slacks. "I might have guessed -- what do you want?"
"The first time you've seen your first mate in more than two months, and that's all you can say? 'What do you want'? I'd ask if you missed me, but I know better." Tyanna retorts, amusement apparent in her voice. A tilt of her head as she flashes a smile at him, placing the bottle in her lap, still holding it loosely. "I heard the water running, and thought it might be better to wait here rather than in your bedroom." Her eyes are drawn away from the figure before her and down to the glass bottle, one thumb playing with the cork for a few seconds before she meets his eyes again, merriment still in hers. "The truth is, I got back into town yesterday and thought I'd say hello."
Shaw just looks as resigned as he sounds, or perhaps dragged out from weariness, which certainly marks him: a more haggard cast to his face, a slouch to shoulders and spine. "I missed you," he tells her sincerely as he makes his way to the desk and kicks out the chair to take his slumping weight. He tips his head back into the creaking leather, regarding her from under half-closed eyelids. "Any member of the Inner Circle who leaves my immediate area gets missed, and for my own first mate, why, of course I care that much more." Sarcasm flirts lightly through his low voice and smears a thin smile across his mouth. "So, you're here to say hello. Hello, Tyanna. Glad you're back in town. What's in the bottle?"
A low laugh follows Shaw's words as Ty spins on the desk to face him, her legs dangling next to his chair. "I missed you too." she admits, her smile becoming more gentle for an instant. The bottle is held out, as it appears to be filled with white sand. "I'm told that when one visits the beach, it's traditional to gather sand for those who don't get to go. The Caymans are a lovely place. This, however, reminded me of you when I saw it." Out of her pocket comes an obsidian arrowhead, placed delicately on the desk. "I found it on Cayman Brac. It's quite sharp." Her chocolate eyes narrow as she takes in Shaw's more haggard expression. "I'd have brought you a Caymanian woman, but I hear that kidnapping is frowned upon in our social circles." she teases with a delicate air.
"Sand . . . ah," and Shaw's face briefly relaxes, nearly softens, as he takes the bottle and tips it this way and that before him. Folding his hand around it, now in firm possession on the armrest, he trains his eyes on the arrowhead, then flips them up, amused, to Tyanna's. "You are forever bringing me weapons, aren't you, White Rook? The cutlass and now this little thing. I don't know if it's Freudian or just spooky. But thank you. Thank you for all of it, even the idea of a woman for my very own." He snorts and leans back, stretching his legs out under the desk. "Do you think I need one? Are you trying to say something?"
Tyanna shakes her head and puts a mock-innocent expression on her face, smiling brightly. "Can I help it if I think of you every time I see something sharp?" she inquires, one eye closing in a brief wink. "And you're quite welcome. I'm sure you're quite capable of finding your own women, Sebastian. But the amusement factor in dropping a female in your lap as a gift wasn't lost on me." Swinging one leg in a careless fashion, she leans back, her hands propping her up as she regards him. "If you're ever of a mind to take a vacation, I recommend the Caymans. Delightful people. Helpful, warm, and more than willing to let you alone if that's what you like."
"And is that what you wanted?" Shaw ripostes, ignoring the rest. He hoods his eyes again and interlaces his fingers over his belly, the bottle of sand caught in that net. "You come, you go, come and go -- the rest of us can't keep up with you, my dear. We envy you such freedom! Unless you were acting on orders . . . ?"
"Perhaps that's the way I prefer it." Tyanna suggests gently, her expression softening, then returning to its usual more playful guise. "The Caymans have branches of many banks on them. French, Swiss, Canadian. If Emma asks me to do a spot of work for her, especially in such a lovely place, I won't refuse her. It was on her ticket, after all." The last is said with a touch of satisfaction as she grins at the King opposite her.
"Mmm. Yes, I'm familiar with the Caymans' specialty." Shaw tilts further back in the chair, slides further down, too, until he's a sink of rumpled business clothes and lazy limbs. He wonders, a little tragically, "Do I get to find out what you two clucking hens are up to?"
A mischevious glint appears in Tyanna's eyes. "Why, what all women do. Seducing men and stealing their money. Then hiding it in Swiss bank accounts." she teases, a predatory smile dancing its way across her features, then she tilts her head and offers him a far more gentle smile. "Honestly, dear Black King, I was simply transferring monies between accounts. And took advantage of the opportunity to sneak in a day or two of vacation for myself, I might add. I'd have asked you to come, but I suspected your supply of flowery shirts was probably limited."
Shaw informs her, "You could always break in here and check my closet for yourself." His gaze slips past her, toward the opened office door; irritation fleetingly tightens his expression, though he smooths it away, drives it under the bantering charm of his reply. "Curiosity killed the cat -- forgive me for asking. I do like knowing what's going on in my Circle. All the better to see threats coming, wouldn't you say?"
Tyanna follows his gaze towards the door and back again, a somewhat admonished expression on her face, her statement more serious. "All right. Next time I'll knock. Or give you written notice of the break-in. I promise." Promise made, she nods, her teasing tone back. "I think there should be a motion made in the Circle that threats should be submitted in triplicate. With at least ten business days to act upon it. Make things much more simple."
"It troubles the pawns," Shaw says with a shrug, dismissive rather than apologetic even after her promise. "And me. If I can't trust that I have /one/ place of sanctuary in this world . . ." He unlaces his fingers in a hands-spread gesture of emptiness, helplessness, then drops the bottle of sand into his lap. Does not match the teasing: too tired for it, too serious. "Bring it up at the next meeting and see how it goes. If only, Tyanna, but you know how this business really works. 'Simple' isn't anywhere in the rules."
"Sometimes I wish it was, but then it wouldn't be business, and anyone could be successful at it." Tyanna responds, sliding off of Shaw's desk and taking a moment to pull her skirt back down to where it should be. "I'll start calling first, really." is the next offer, made as she leans on the desk for support. "I.." she stops herself, tugs at her clothing a tad self-consciously, and then offers him a sincere smile. "It's late, Sebastian, and I need my beauty sleep. I should probably go."
Shaw doesn't return the smile, but does look chagrined, fleetingly, before his expression closes down again, all hard features and half-shuttered eyes. "Do you know," he begins conversationally, "what your mistress calls me? Melodramatic. I brood, too. I'm brooding now. And driving you right out of the room with it." He pulls himself up slowly, with a few muted joint pops, to sitting, puts the bottle of sand carefully on the desk beside the arrowhead, and tips a long look up at the White Rook. "You don't have to leave." Quietly; passively. "Or call ahead first. That isn't a problem."
"I believe she's called me that once or twice as well. And a few other choice words when I manage to raise her temper." Her expression perfectly serious, Tyanna kneels on the carpet, sitting on her heels. Her hands rest on the armrest nearest her, her chin propped up on them as she gazes upwards at Shaw. "You don't drive me away." is the reply, soft almost to the point of being inaudible. "What is it that you brood about?"
"Life," is Shaw's cheerful response, and he bares a death's-head smile for her, so near. "It isn't important, though. It's private, and it's personal, and it'll pass." He leans his head into a propped hand, its fingers digging into his damp, tousled hair. His eyes fall on her like small black stones. "What were you going to say a minute ago? 'I--' what?"
Tyanna returns the smile, hers more cheerful and unafraid of this rather evil smile in front of her. "I was about to ask what was wrong. But as you said, it's personal, and I didn't want to pry." Her eyes flick over to the office door and back again. "Believe it or not, I don't always just barge into people's private affairs." Gaze gliding over his face, she remarks, "You could catch cold if you go to bed with your hair damp like that."
Shaw snorts. "It'll dry before I get anywhere near my bed. I still have a couple hours of email to catch up on." He tilts his propped head slightly toward the computer monitor (turned off, still and dark). "Then why do you come in to see me like this?" he asks curiously. Warily, perhaps, by the tension in his tone: habit, must be; the legacy of long years in Hellfire's burning heart. "To keep me on my toes? One of these days, you're going to surprise me into a heart attack, see if you don't, little girl."
Tyanna's eyes close and open slowly, almost sleepy. "How was I supposed to know you weren't in a good mood? I just got in last night, remember. I certainly didn't know you'd be in the shower. On the bright side, at least you had a robe on when you came into the office." She rises up from her sitting position to a kneeling one, propping herself up with her elbows on the armrest. "If I'd wanted to give you a heart attack, I'd have run into the bathroom while you were showering and screamed with all my might." A devilish smile appears for a moment. "But such a thing, while extremely rude and childish, probably would also constitute taking my life into my own hands."
"Something like that," Shaw agrees, not quite smiling, and twitches his free hand closer to him, away from her and possible temptation of one sort or another. "I even put on actual clothes, not just the robe, this time, too. Feel flattered. You didn't answer my question, though: why do you break in to see me? In fact, why do you come to see me at all? My charming wit and staggering good looks, no doubt."
Tyanna shrugs, then looks away while she thinks. "I know you're looking for a deeper purpose here, Sebastian, but I don't have one for you. Frankly, I wanted to see you and simply have a conversation without letting most of the Club know, and this was the most direct way to do it. But I've been a good girl and said I shan't do it again." With this, she leans forward and places a very light peck on his cheek, by way of apology. "I -am- sorry if I startled you."
"That's answer enough," Shaw gives her, mollified and as close as apologetic as he's going to get on the subject this evening. "I'll try to stop seeing conspiracies around every corner. That's unfair to both of us." He touches his cheek then, where she kissed it, and crooks his mouth. "Just like that's unfair. Playing sweet on someone like me? Devilish of you."
"Too true. I rarely engage in conspiracy. I prefer making solitary trouble." Tyanna offers. She tilts her head to one side and beams at him with a perfectly innocent smile, though the look doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm not really sweet, and you know it. But if you would prefer I apologize a different way, I'm open to suggestions."
Definite wariness now, leavened only slightly by his dry tone. "As long as it doesn't involve weapons, nudity, or both. No, we're fine, Tyanna. Aren't we?"
A snap of her fingers, and a shadow of disappointment crosses Tyanna's face. "You block my other ideas before I get to them, Captain." she says, amusement back in her voice, along with a soft laugh. Leaning forward just a bit, she confides, "We're just fine, and I really am going to bed now." Rising to her feet, she stretches to relieve muscles tensed from kneeling.
"I've got enough problems," Shaw lofts after her, "without getting involved with my darling Queen's darling Rook in /any/ way beyond the professional. I don't even want to think about it, as much as I enjoy your company." And her stretch, since his eyes don't appear to mind following it with leisurely appreciation. "Go to bed, then, and dream of those beaches." He grins for a second, brows arched rakishly. "And storming them at the head of a crew of pillaging pirates."
"Oh, so now I'm her -darling- Rook, am I? The word I get most often is 'pet'." Said in a good-natured way, Tyanna starts for the door. "When she's not using words like 'dramatic' and 'brat'." One hand on the doorknob, she turns to face him again. "Dream of soaking up the sun and drinking rum. Perhaps I'll get a house there. I could pass for a native. Then I could pillage the other islands at my leisure." A smirk and a wink later, she's out the door, careful to close it after her.
[Log ends.]