"Oh no," Gela says, looking up from her work and touching her face immediately, patting her cheeks as Fifi sets the tray down, "Do I?" Look like it? Probably. Then she smiles, hands still in place, and adds, "You're joining me today." Not a question.
There is only one cup on the tray but she has extra cups on her desk anyway that have not yet been tidied away and she can use one of those. Fifi can have the nice clean one. She sets it out for her by the desk and lifts the teapot to pour.
"It was rough. But now that I have a plan it is — well, still rough, but with an end in sight." So: better.
Fifi answers with a sympathetic grin-- yes, you look like it-- but then doesn't argue when prompted to join her. She even extends her hand for the extra cup, her other hand bunched in her apron with the offer of wiping it down for use as Gela fills the newer one.
"The plan is the hard part," she commiserates, "will we be putting on our own rival show then?" Her eyes contain Mischief.
Gela looks at her with wide, knowing eyes. She pours a cup. "You guessed!"
Yes it's silly but right now she really needs a bit of silly in her life — things have been far too serious as of late. "We're going to put on a show about the crafting of a play. We'll show the whole process: the bad research, the interviewing later taken out of context. It will become clear, as the show progresses, that the auteur was given all of their information second, third, fourth, fifth and finally sixth hand."
She pours herself a cup now and, for a brief moment, laments that there is nothing stronger to tip into it. It has been one of those weeks. She says, "How are you?" in a way that is transparently obvious — she wants the attention off herself and her own work.
Fifi catches the question without complaint, seeing well enough that Gela wants to think about anything else.
"Can't complain," she says simply, raising her teacup to inhale a bit of steam, "it was nice going to Val Royeaux, despite everything. It was my home for a long time."
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no subject
There is only one cup on the tray but she has extra cups on her desk anyway that have not yet been tidied away and she can use one of those. Fifi can have the nice clean one. She sets it out for her by the desk and lifts the teapot to pour.
"It was rough. But now that I have a plan it is — well, still rough, but with an end in sight." So: better.
there was only one cup...
"The plan is the hard part," she commiserates, "will we be putting on our own rival show then?" Her eyes contain Mischief.
and two g
Yes it's silly but right now she really needs a bit of silly in her life — things have been far too serious as of late. "We're going to put on a show about the crafting of a play. We'll show the whole process: the bad research, the interviewing later taken out of context. It will become clear, as the show progresses, that the auteur was given all of their information second, third, fourth, fifth and finally sixth hand."
no subject
no subject
She pours herself a cup now and, for a brief moment, laments that there is nothing stronger to tip into it. It has been one of those weeks. She says, "How are you?" in a way that is transparently obvious — she wants the attention off herself and her own work.
no subject
"Can't complain," she says simply, raising her teacup to inhale a bit of steam, "it was nice going to Val Royeaux, despite everything. It was my home for a long time."