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[After their separate debriefings, Corian joined Tarrant where he was trying to talk their employers into giving them a vacation. She had much more success. They go home, and pause on the stairs.]
Corian
Perhaps a hair under six feet tall, Corian is painfully thin, and has
quite fair skin. Though she takes care to disguise her slight frame with
baggy clothing, the spare lines of her face and the delicacy of her
overly-jointed fingers hint at what is hidden. Her build is not even remotely
athletic, with an absence of muscle that would not be out-of-place on a
sedentary pre-adolescent. In fact, even her face looks quite young. If not
for a presence and a self-posession rarely found in someone who is the age
she appears, she could easily seem to be a young teenager. Silvery-blonde
hair is cropped neatly at her jaw, the style attempting to make her narrow
face look wider. Sparse brows arch over cloudy gray eyes, and under neat
bangs. She has an obviously Edreeni cast to her features, and moves with the
grace characteristic of that group. Her alto voice is quite flexible, and her
Standard is without any trace of accent.
This would definitely be Corian at her most casual. It's almost a
definite that the shirt is a gift, rather than something she would have
bought for herself. For one thing, it's black, which is not quite the most
flattering color for her. For another, it's a sweatshirt, which seems a
little casual for her style, despite being soft and fleecy and undoubtedly
very warm. The logo, though, definitely indicates that she didn't buy this
shirt. In white, there's a wavy-edged circle, with the words "Ladies' Sewing
Circle and Terrorist Society" curving around the inside of the circle in
curling, elegant script. There's a rather pretty flower inside the circle,
adding to the absurdity of the shirt. The shirt is vastly oversized, falling
to her thighs. This is good, as she's wearing black leggings, and so she
wants something concealing. Over the leggings is a pair of thick, black
socks. No, this definitely isn't a good color for her, as it makes her look
all the more pale, but at least it's comfortable. On the third finger of her
left hand, she wears a ring made of interlaced layers of malachite and gray,
an interlooping and entirely complex object.
Tarrant walks here from the Central Atrium.
Tarrant has arrived.
Clara grins amiably, shaking her head. "He won't be angry. I put in a full
day's work pretty much anyway, so no worries," Clara explains. She and Greer
are on the fourth floor landing, both grinning madly and each carrying a few
paper bags with handles.
Corian is still looking tired, though not even remotely as much so as she did the last time she was seen in public. Oh, and she's clean. Being clean helps. Her expression is vaguely apologetic, but also holds just a touch of smugness. "I -am- sorry that it took me so long, cha'trez," she is saying to Tarrant as she makes her way perhaps a touch gingerly up the stairs. "But you know how they are, of course--always another question." She nods pleasantly to Clara and Greer, then, with a brief, warm smile. "Hello, there."
Tarrant is, for the record, quietly snickering as he pads up the stairs after Corian. He's tired, still decidedly scruffy, but obviously entertained. "It's okay love, I'm just entertained at how fast those opossums changed their coats when -you- walked in. I swear they were a'cowerin' in their boots." He tips his non-existant hat to Greer and Clara with a smile, "Evenin' ladies."
Greer nods to Clara with an irrepressible grin, then yipes softly, spotting the Czolgoszes. She straightens up quickly, putting on an innocent smile as she waves. "Coooorrriiiiii!" She tries to distract with a hug.
Clara is a little more composed, but her eyes do widen significantly for a
split-second. "Tarrant, Corian, why hello! Fancy meeting you here." She
pauses as Corian's shirt simply begs to be read, and gives into the impulse
to break into snickering again. "Oh, -my-. Can I join that club?" she wants
to know, resting a hand on Greer's shoulder. "Sorry, don't let us keep you,
I'm sure you want to get home."
Corian shakes her head to Tarrant, all but radiating innocence. "I really do
not know -why- I trouble them so, but I am also hardly going to complain, as
it -worked-." Greer's hug is, of course, admirably distracting. "Well, and
there you are, chernubia." Clara's words get a briefly puzzled look, and then
a quiet chuckle. "Of course, if you like--the wonders of needing to do
laundry, it brings out the more... creative aspects of my wardrobe." Now,
gee, why would Tarrant get an amused look at that.
Tarrant can't help but look a little smug himself about the comment regarding
the shirt. Gee, guess whose find that was? Aside from the fact that Corian
has taste, and he doesn't, and is hence more likely to buy such a silly
thing? "I don't know if laundry's going to get done anytime soon either. I'll
be a bettin' the folks downstairs are thinkin' up ways to have us hung,
drawn, and quartered. All the mess." He grins, "I don't think we're being
kept, Corian's managed to get us some vacation time, so we're free souls for
a while."
Greer grins broadly at Cori, and then throws herself at Tarrant too. "What's
drawn and quartered? Yep, I'm here! Where else would I be?" she blathers on
happily, then giggles. "Maybe y'all just need to buy some new clothes?"
Tarrant's words bring a cheer. "Vacation's good! No more school, no more
books..." Et cetera.
"Really? Vacation?" Clara lights up sincerely now with a truly happy grin
rather than the conspiratal giggling of earlier. Yes, she giggles. Rarely.
"Laundry is full of sadists who believe we should all live in scary clothing
or uniforms. But I have to admit, you two look wonderfully comfortable. She
gives Greer a broad grin and a headshake. "Vacation for them, sweetheart, not
you. You still have school."
Corian offers a brief, Kashidian bow towards Tarrant at the mention of the
vacation. "They would have said yes to you eventually, though," she observes
quietly. "It is just more efficient the way that I did it." Greer's words get
a thoughtful look. "Actually, books sound like fun--some pleasure-reading
would be wonderful." She nods to Clara, then. "We do deserve some time off,"
she says, with a brief smile.
Tarrant is more than willing to be hugged, and hugs in return. It's proof he's
still tired that he doesn't attempt to sweep the poor kid up into the air or
some such or torment her further. "It's an old-fashioned form of capitol
punishment, very messy." Hey, he's not going to -lie- to the kid. His
explanation comes with a grin however. "Laundry's silly. But yeah, though I
could wish the flannel was clean. I swear we'll never get warm again, evil
people." He's cheerful about the evil though. Corian is nodded to with a fond
smile, "Far more efficent indeed. You'd'a just had to say froggy and they'd'a
jumped, love."
Greer's nose wrinkles. "That's not half as fun as it sounds," she tells Tarrant
with all seriousness, then beams over at Corian, piping, "Books are a girl's
best friend!" Then she looks over her shoulder with a rueful grin for Clara.
"That's okay. I -like- school." Really.
"Corian, you must postively be a tiger with them," Clara notes with a
completely straight face, shaking her head mildly. "Books are excessively
wonderful, as well. But so is food, and if you two have spent time arguing
with bureaucrats, you probably missed dinner. I could call and get something
delivered to you tonight so you don't have to cook?" she suggests amiably,
then ruffles Greer's hair. "I know you do."
Corian snaps her slender fingers at Tarrant's words. "Oh, cha'trez, I wish you
had suggested it while we were still there. That would have been quite
entertaining to see." Greer gets a brief smile and a nod, but Corian does
reach for Tarrant's hand. Yes, folks, there are some things better than
books. Clara gets a quizzical smile. "A tiger? Well, they seem to think that
I am. And food is an excellent idea. We probably have stew in the freezer,
though, it does not take a moment to heat."
Tarrant interlaces his fingers through Corian's, he's hardly about to object to
that. He nods cheerfully, "Not at all fun, hence why it's best to be
avoided." He shakes his head in a brief negative to Clara's words, smiling.
"The offer's appreciated though, but we can scare up some food." A snicker is
stifled and he nods to Corian, "We can remember it for next time. I still
vote we hardwire their AC down to a level it freezes the whole place for a
week though."
Greer dissolves into giggles at the mention of the tiger, and again she tries
to conjure up an innocent smile. Problem is, she's not very good at it. "Stew
is good! It's got all sorts of everything that makes up what's needed for
net... nutri... " SHe casts an appealing glance over her shoulder toward
Clara for the right word, then nods to Tarrant. "How do you know it's not
fun?" she asks curiously, then cocks her head in slight confusion at the
freezing comment.
"Which sounds good too. Oh, Corian, I'll forward you that message from Josif tonight, if you like?" Tarrant gets a rather amiable grin that fades to mock horror. "Leave the third floor be? Blue isn't really the best color for me to turn," she explains rapidly. "Nutritious," she adds in enunciation for Greer, before casting Tarrant an amused look. -He- gets to explaing why drawing and quartering isn't must on anyone's list for a pleasant afternoon.
Corian nods quite serenely to Tarrant. "I would not object, cha'trez." She
offers to Clara, "Of course, it would be their offices, which would not cause
any trouble to you. I think it is only fair." She doesn't explain drawing and
quartering either, or its unfun-ness.
"Cause I read in a book what it was," Tarrant explains unhelpfully with a
smile. "And I'm willing to guess from that, that it wasn't much fun." He nods
cheerfully, "Oh yeah, just the offices. I don't think anybody else oughta'
have to freeze like that. It's plum miserable."
However, that's good enough an explanation for Greer. Books are -the- authority
on all matters, after all. She gives Tarrant a firm nod, something akin to
comprehension in her expression. "Then it must be true! Nutritious," she
repeats slowly, easily swayed from the drawing and quartering topic. "I
thought plums were fresh fruit, not frozen?"
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
"Thank goodness," Clara exclaims melodramatically, resting a hand to the back of her forehead, eyes dancing at the idea of freezing out annoying people. "Now, nutrition and rest is what this doctor prescribes. But before Greer and I let you two escape to the sanctuary of home, I do want to know briefly if you're both all right? No fevers, broken bits, nasty coughing, etcetera...?"
Corian replies smoothly to Greer, "On the planet where Tarrant and I were, I believe that even fresh plums were frozen." She's not joking at all, really. After flickering a brief smile to Tarrant, she shakes her head to Clara. "I am well, nothing is wrong that a bit of rest will not cure. I -am- starting to understand the phenomenon of security blankets, though."
"An' plums are lovely frozen. Well, on a hot day at least." Tarrant shudders lightly at the thought of frozen food at the moment. "They're certainly a treat, if a trick to eat as well. Frost plums don't even come full ripe until after the first frost. And -those- are amazing cold. My parents have a few trees of them up at their place. It's just a good thing we didn't live there when I was little, or my sister and I'd've snuck off with the bulk of them."
Greer blinks at Corian, and wrinkles her nose, and shudders. "Eeewww. I don't like -that- much cold. Did you at least get to play in the snow?" she asks plaintively?" Tarrant gets a curious look. "Do they taste good?" At Clara's words, her expression turns to one of concern, and she looks Corian and Tarrant up and down, examining them for broken bits.
Clara is busily doing the same as Greer, although possibly with a bit more idea of what to look for. After a moment, though, she does nod and let a warm smile return. "I've never heard of frost plums, but then I'm not exactly from a cold climate myself. I'm sure they're positively lovely, though." She lifts her brows at Corian in surprise. "Security blankets?"
Corian offers a reassuring smile to first Greer and then to Clara, before
nodding to Clara. "Blankets," she says succinctly, "Are warm. I would not
mind an excuse to carry one." She's kidding, right? Sometimes it's so hard to
tell.
"They're very sweet," Tarrant explains to the small child, rocking slowly back on his feet from heel to toe. He grins though and nods, "Just a little. It was a bit too cold to play much. But we made a friend! His name was Scruffy. Waaaay bigger than all of us, with lots of fur, and he was very cute."
Greer does the slightest double take at the word 'Scruffy', and here comes that innocent look again. "Scruffy? Is he a dog?" she asks. "I knew a dog named Scruffy once. Is Scruffy a good friend? Can I meet him?"
Clara gestures at Tarrant significantly, although her grin is for Corian.
"Security blanket," she murmurs with a smile of 'well there you are'. The
name from Tarrant gets a grin down at Greer before she nods amiably. "You
mentioned Scruffy last night. If he was that big, I'm assuming he wasn't a
dog, then?"
Corian manages not to look either amused or longsuffering at the mention of Scruffy. "We -had- to leave him, cha'trez. He would not have fit on the ship." She shakes her head to Greer. "Scruffy is a..." She murmurs a word in that liquid, musical language, then shakes her head. "Beast-of-burden? Something like that. We both could ride him." She doesn't comment on the friend-ness of him, instead leaving that to Tarrant. At Clara's words, she smiles rather brightly, giving Tarrant's hand a bit of a squeeze. (Yes, he's hers, nobody else's not sharing. No threats of maiming, though.)
"He was cute, and adorable, and he -liked- us," Tarrant is helpful on this
subject, and enthusiastic as well. "But yeah, he was too big I'm afraid."
This is said with a soft sigh, "He was -furry-. Cheerful and happy and furry
and..." He snickers, "Ooh, I'm a blanket?"
Greer blinks. "Beast of burden? Like a really big horse?" Curiosity lights in her eyes, which turn to Tarrant dubiously. "You don't -look- like a blanket."
"Why not? You're cheerful and happy and...well, not especially furry, no,"
Clara muses clinically. "Made surgery a lot easier, certainly." She shakes
her head to clear the thought and grins. "Men make wonderful security
blankets though. When you're forty, you'll understand," she adds at Greer
with a wink. "I'm sorry you had to leave your pet behind. Perhaps there will
be others," she adds reassuringly.
Corian reaches up with her free hand to pat Tarrant's arm. Yes, yes. He's going on about the animal again. "He was warm," she adds thoughtfully. "And he saved us from having to walk in snow much of the time, which was nice." She nods to Greer, then, though with a quirked smile for the age that Clara gave. Though, it may be noted, she does look vaguely amused at the mention of other pets. "Not something quite so large as Scruffy, I hope," she murmurs.
"Ahh, sadly with the job there's not much space for pets," Tarrant scuffs a
boot lightly on the ground. Awww, poor guy, can't have a cute furry animal.
Isn't he sad and pathetic? Why are you snickering. "And finding space for
Scruffy would have been a -little- tricky. Not to mention he wouldn't like
the warmth, and I don't care how cute the thing is I ain't staying anywhere
that cold."
Greer can't repress a giggle, exchanging a look with Clara. "Something a lot smaller," she agrees with Corian, eyes dancing. Then she gives Tarrant a totally sympathetic look, and goes to hug him again. He looks like he needs it. "I bet Scruffy will remember you forever though."
"For your sake, and on behalf of everyone that missed you and as your doctor, I
am -seriously- glad you're back in a liveable climate, pet or no," Clara
exclaims seriously. "And I'm sure you'll find something Tarrant." Awww,
Greer's being cute again. Clara gets a rather cheerful grin, probably tied
several times around the girl's little finger.
Corian leans close to kiss Tarrant's cheek, then quirks a brief smile at Greer. No, she didn't get as attached to Scruffy, obviously. Clara, though, gets a firm nod. "I am rather glad as well, yes. And if you all will excuse me, I think I need to get back upstairs, and perhaps find that stew."
Oh see, now he gets a -hug-. Tarrant is entirely game for hugs and returns it with a sheepish look. "Maybe a rock. Then we wouldn't have to worry about feeding it when we were off." He offers another tip of his hat as well, "And I think I'll head up with my lovely wife, as tracking down food seems smart."
Clara steps to the side despite the easy width of the stairs, trying to catch at Greer's hand and waving her sack-ridden arm at the door to the fourth floor. "Shoo, go and get dinner and relax and start enjoying that vacation I'm sure you've earned," she instructs with a smile. "And welcome home. And speaking of home, why don't I see you to yours, missy, hmm?"
Greer grins up at Tarrant, letting her hand be caught by Clara as she takes a step back from the man...kid... whatever he is, she likes him! "Yes," she nods with a giggle, glancing toward the stairs leading toward the proper floor, "You really should go home. And get food. And, uh, whatever it is y'all do for fun," she blathers, then looks up to Clara with another giggle and a nod. "Okie dokie! Mama'll like the mar-sup-ials."
Corian doesn't comment on what she and Tarrant do for fun. It probably involves
playing with toys, knowing them. She smiles cheerfully, ooh, she gets to keep
Tarrant. Yay. "Going home and relaxing sounds like a wonderful idea," she
says as she starts for the stairs. "Thank you for the suggestion, Clara, and
I am sure that we will enjoy ourselves." She pauses a beat at the mention of
marsupials, but doesn't comment.
Corian says good night, too, really, she's not rude.
Tarrant tips his hat once more to the females he's not married to before
trailing after COrian, "Home does indeed sound wonderful. Sleep..." This last
word is said with the reverence due a saint, rather than just a concept.
"Evening, y'all."
Corian is Saint Corian the Nice? In any event, she heads up the stairs.
You walk towards the Fourth Floor Elevator Lounge.
Fourth Floor Elevator Lounge
Eloquently appointed, and impeccably arranged, this elevator lounge serves as a
waiting area for the diplomatic level as well as for the lifts. Unlike the
lower floors, the marble here is a blinding white, veined lightly with silver
gray. Heavy rugs are strategically arranged and each depicts the symbol of
one of the Alliance sectors of space. The walls are paneled in a lighter
colored wood than the levels below, and sport brass fixtures. Tasteful potted
plants lurk in the corners. A receptionists desk and security station are set
up for those seeking information, but no traffic is impeded. A carefully
engraved listing is available of all the diplomats maintaining offices on
this floor.
<< To see a listing of offices maintained here, type +view listing >>
Obvious exits:
Stairs Elevator
You walk here from the Spiraling Stairway.
Tarrant walks here from the Spiraling Stairway.
Tarrant has arrived.
==============================================================================
Message 7 Date Received: Wed Sep 22 17:40:55 1999
From: Clara
To: Tarrant, Corian
Cc: Clara, Tara
Subject: Mission successful!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Cue the Mission Impossible music! Someone has taken to being daring and all spy like, and mysteriously left two paper sacks with handles taped to your door...with surgical tape. The first bag has 'Corian' written on the front in cheerful bright green block letters, and inside is a speckled dark yellow stuffed ocelot, tufted ears and emerald eyes and webbed feet included. The other bag is just as cheerfully marked 'Tarrant', and contains an absurdly happy duckbilled platypus, although minus the poisonous feet. Well, not the feet, those are still there. Just minus the poison. There is no return address, no clue where they came from. Oh, wait...is that a smudge of chocolate on one bag? Or maybe it's catsup. It's up to you to decide!
Options: +delete, +forward, +reply, +replyall, +mark
Corian peers rather quizzically at the paper sacks taped to the door. "Well,
now," she murmurs. "This is an adventure." She moves closer to poke lightly
at 'her' sack. "One would think that someone intending harm would be more
subtle..."
You faintly hear a chime mark the hour.
Tarrant is somewhat wary of sacks, even if they seem innocent enough. He's working on paranoia still. A device is pulled from ... well somewhere, it's a tiny thing. A quick humming enuses, "Hrrm, looks safe enough."
Corian nods at your words, carefully pulling down her bag. She peeks inside it
rather carefully, and then blinks. "It is a cat." No, no, she doesn't mean a
live one. She pulls out the stuffed animal with a curious little smile. "How
odd. Someone has given me..." She peers at the tag. "An ocelot." She should
name it Lancelot.
Tarrant opens his own bag and can't quite restrain a yelp, all but dropping the
bag. "Ack!" The bag is held closed, "I don't know what it is, but it looks
scary."
Corian carefully tucks the ocelot into the curve of her hip, and reaches for
the bag. "May I see?"
Tarrant offers the bag over, but hesitantly, as if afraid it will corrupt you
or something. "Yes, but don't let it eat you."
Corian takes the bag with a murmur of thanks, then shakes it carefully, before
opening it and peering inside. Her brows quirk. "It is... not quite a duck."
She pulls out the platypus, then peers at its tag, as well. "Platypus. Oh,
they are the ones with the eggs." How helpful.
Tarrant reaches over to poke lightly at the absurdly happy marsupial, "Oohhh, and the poisonous feet." Trust him to remember -that- part.
Corian offers over the platypus. "Congratulations," she says, perhaps serious. "It is a platypus." With a ghost of a smile, she turns to open the door.
Tarrant accepts the platypus, although he's careful of the feet. Just in case. He turns to follow you into the room, looking sleepy and confused.
You unlock the door and go into room Y8.
Room Y8(#1211RA)
This poor room is very confused. Its owner has traveled extensively, as is
obvious from the disjointed decor. Oddly, though, it all seems to fit, and
the room certainly matches Corian's personality. The glossy wooden floor is
bare, with the exception of one small, circular braided rug. The dark blue
overstuffed couch seems new, and is sized to fit an Edreeni. The throw over
the couch, however, is faded, and seems to depict some sort of seascape. A
low table in front of the couch also seems fairly new. It holds a few books,
more paperwork, and a toy wind-up giraffe with a bit of ribbon around its
neck. The desk is a convenient little thing, looking like it can fold to a
size that may be carried. Of course, that means there are no drawers, but a
small portable file-drawer makes up for that. A rather large stack of
noveldisks rests on the desk, as well as paperwork in any of a number of
languages, a few wooden puzzles, and a photograph. A portable terminal is
generally somewhere around the room, depending on where Corian is working at
the moment. The chair tucked under the desk is decidedly comfortable, and
looks like the seat of choice for Corian. A screen hides the sleeping area
from view, and has a brightly-colored piece of cloth tacked to it. A long
coat of dark gray skrorg hangs near the door.
Obvious exits:
Alvand Out
You come in from the Elevator Lounge.
Tarrant enters from the Elevator Lounge.
Tarrant has arrived.