"You have no idea." She takes a seat at the table, and watches him grab a bottle of water from the fridge and hand it to her. "How's the con going?"
"Eh." He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it towards the half open suitcase lying on top of the dresser. "Same old, same old." He grabs the chair next to her and turns it so he can straddle it backwards.
Torri grins mischievously. "Oh my god, like, could I just, you know, please get a hug?"
He laughs at her Valley girl accent. "You do fangirl frighteningly well." He leans forward and taps the Atlantis patch on the sleeve of her leather jacket. "Especially when you're wearing this."
She beams and stretches her arms out, posing for him. "You like? I figured a costume would be the best way to blend in."
"Well, it worked. I was about to call security on your ass."
"My poor ass," she laughs, passing him the bottle of water. "So, what do you think? First place in the costume competition?"
"Hmm, I don't know." He takes a sip of the water, and makes a show of studying her. Of checking out her faded jeans and tee, leather jacket and boots, her discarded sunglasses and cap on the table. She's free of makeup and her hair is loose about her shoulders. She looks a little tired, a lot relaxed, and she's smiling at him like she's missed him as much as he's missed her this hiatus. "Maybe second place?"
She mimes outrage, slapping at his arm. "Better not let Christina hear you say that."
"Christina?" It takes him a moment to place the name, and when he does, he stares at the jacket again suspiciously. "Wait -- is that mine?"
"Well, it'd hardly be a disguise if I came in my own," she says, shrugging.
He shakes his head. "You're terrible."
She laughs. "You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."
He rolls his eyes. "Somehow I don't think I'd blend in very well wearing one of your outfits."
"I don't know," she says, voice suddenly deadpan. "I think you'd look rather fetching in red."
He makes a face. "Very funny."
She smirks. "Jase's leather chaps?"
"Oh, you're just a regular comedian tonight, aren't you?"
"Prelude to jetlag." She snags back the water. "Gimme another hour, and I'll be seriously asleep."
His turn for deadpan. "Something to look forward to, then."
She arches an eyebrow. "Now who's the comedian?"
He grins, and pushes himself up off the chair. "So, dinner?"
She looks surprised. "You don't have a banquet?"
He does. Seven-thirty to midnight, and while he was never that enthusiastic about the whole eat-drink-and-be-merry-with-the-fans idea in the first place, now it's absolutely the last thing he wants to do. "Bad headache," he says blithely, "horrible. Might even be a migraine. I'm sure the fans will understand."
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"Thirsty?"
"You have no idea." She takes a seat at the table, and watches him grab a bottle of water from the fridge and hand it to her. "How's the con going?"
"Eh." He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it towards the half open suitcase lying on top of the dresser. "Same old, same old." He grabs the chair next to her and turns it so he can straddle it backwards.
Torri grins mischievously. "Oh my god, like, could I just, you know, please get a hug?"
He laughs at her Valley girl accent. "You do fangirl frighteningly well." He leans forward and taps the Atlantis patch on the sleeve of her leather jacket. "Especially when you're wearing this."
She beams and stretches her arms out, posing for him. "You like? I figured a costume would be the best way to blend in."
"Well, it worked. I was about to call security on your ass."
"My poor ass," she laughs, passing him the bottle of water. "So, what do you think? First place in the costume competition?"
"Hmm, I don't know." He takes a sip of the water, and makes a show of studying her. Of checking out her faded jeans and tee, leather jacket and boots, her discarded sunglasses and cap on the table. She's free of makeup and her hair is loose about her shoulders. She looks a little tired, a lot relaxed, and she's smiling at him like she's missed him as much as he's missed her this hiatus. "Maybe second place?"
She mimes outrage, slapping at his arm. "Better not let Christina hear you say that."
"Christina?" It takes him a moment to place the name, and when he does, he stares at the jacket again suspiciously. "Wait -- is that mine?"
"Well, it'd hardly be a disguise if I came in my own," she says, shrugging.
He shakes his head. "You're terrible."
She laughs. "You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."
He rolls his eyes. "Somehow I don't think I'd blend in very well wearing one of your outfits."
"I don't know," she says, voice suddenly deadpan. "I think you'd look rather fetching in red."
He makes a face. "Very funny."
She smirks. "Jase's leather chaps?"
"Oh, you're just a regular comedian tonight, aren't you?"
"Prelude to jetlag." She snags back the water. "Gimme another hour, and I'll be seriously asleep."
His turn for deadpan. "Something to look forward to, then."
She arches an eyebrow. "Now who's the comedian?"
He grins, and pushes himself up off the chair. "So, dinner?"
She looks surprised. "You don't have a banquet?"
He does. Seven-thirty to midnight, and while he was never that enthusiastic about the whole eat-drink-and-be-merry-with-the-fans idea in the first place, now it's absolutely the last thing he wants to do. "Bad headache," he says blithely, "horrible. Might even be a migraine. I'm sure the fans will understand."
She laughs. "Now who's terrible?"
"Our little secret, shh."
*
*hugs*