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Qiaran pranced around towards Haban’s front like a cat flaunting her quarry - arms overlapped and big, heartfelt eyebrows thoroughly cross. “...And here I thought you soft and silent types were always supposed to have everything in order; pity that - one less thing to praise about his Almighty Highness, thou who hast not even the decent inclination to pick up a morning shift.”
Haban eased back as far as the blue-black weaved back of his rolling-chair would allow him, wearily puffing away in his burgundy livery; the deep brown pupil of his organic eye contemplated the sharp snap of her words, and his ears noted the rising breaths that simmered to a boil inside her constricted chest. There was a fire in her gaze this afternoon - as if already expecting to be enraged, to hear a snarky retort that might foolishly attempt to counter her argument, and in doing so unknowingly UNLEASH the very DOGS OF WAR. Haban may have been a stubborn procrastinator, but he didn’t exactly fit the bill for a pompous suicidal...
...Ironic, given this line of work.
“Shorry Q - yhou know how Ih take these things...” he said, opening his arms wide in a mock hug, “...Daysh like these, they come ‘round an’around - yhear in, yhear ouht. I jusht don’t tahke ‘em too serioushly anymore.”
Qiaran released a pejorative grumble from her overwatch, likened to a great dragon’s roar echoing boundlessly from the top of its mountainous heights. His gaze trailed after her pitiable mood as she shook her head, retreating back into the cheap refuge of neck-high ‘office’ walls. “I’ll hang out here for another ten in case you need anything...”, she said in a half-muffled tone, “...then I’m up and gone - are we clear?”
“Even the sandstorms couldn’t stain your clarity, Q.”
“Don’t test your luck with that lip, Haban.”
Oh dear, that appeared to be her angry voice talking - it’d be better to get out while the chips were still high. Speaking of speech, it’d only just occurred to the metal-eyed officer that he was starving for an appetite; the Break Room was starting to look awfully enticing...perhaps he ought to investigate it for any cached sustenance? Snatching up his cane, he briefly flipped the screen over to monitoring traffic-light-cameras before making a stealthy evacuation from the desk. Yet, he could hear his faulty exit as soon as he’d risen from his seat, and as if setting off a tripwire, he trembled at the steadfast indignation of Qiaran latching on to his exposed back:
“...And where do you think you’re going Now??” Haban spun around and continued to pace backwards to his destination, attempting a charming smile:
“Quick bite to eat, no worries...?”
“............Uhg - Fine...just make it quick.”
“Ah, make no mistake woman, that’s my Specialty!” The long-haired brunette rolled her hazel eyes and set back to the rhythm of mechanical keys, allowing her lax cubicle-mate a final relief before turning around into that wood-panelled haven of last night’s remnants and this morning’s scavenged confectionaries. He could just make out some sort of commotion surrounding the upper-left’s plasma screen as he entered the room...
Haban eased back as far as the blue-black weaved back of his rolling-chair would allow him, wearily puffing away in his burgundy livery; the deep brown pupil of his organic eye contemplated the sharp snap of her words, and his ears noted the rising breaths that simmered to a boil inside her constricted chest. There was a fire in her gaze this afternoon - as if already expecting to be enraged, to hear a snarky retort that might foolishly attempt to counter her argument, and in doing so unknowingly UNLEASH the very DOGS OF WAR. Haban may have been a stubborn procrastinator, but he didn’t exactly fit the bill for a pompous suicidal...
...Ironic, given this line of work.
“Shorry Q - yhou know how Ih take these things...” he said, opening his arms wide in a mock hug, “...Daysh like these, they come ‘round an’around - yhear in, yhear ouht. I jusht don’t tahke ‘em too serioushly anymore.”
Qiaran released a pejorative grumble from her overwatch, likened to a great dragon’s roar echoing boundlessly from the top of its mountainous heights. His gaze trailed after her pitiable mood as she shook her head, retreating back into the cheap refuge of neck-high ‘office’ walls. “I’ll hang out here for another ten in case you need anything...”, she said in a half-muffled tone, “...then I’m up and gone - are we clear?”
“Even the sandstorms couldn’t stain your clarity, Q.”
“Don’t test your luck with that lip, Haban.”
Oh dear, that appeared to be her angry voice talking - it’d be better to get out while the chips were still high. Speaking of speech, it’d only just occurred to the metal-eyed officer that he was starving for an appetite; the Break Room was starting to look awfully enticing...perhaps he ought to investigate it for any cached sustenance? Snatching up his cane, he briefly flipped the screen over to monitoring traffic-light-cameras before making a stealthy evacuation from the desk. Yet, he could hear his faulty exit as soon as he’d risen from his seat, and as if setting off a tripwire, he trembled at the steadfast indignation of Qiaran latching on to his exposed back:
“...And where do you think you’re going Now??” Haban spun around and continued to pace backwards to his destination, attempting a charming smile:
“Quick bite to eat, no worries...?”
“............Uhg - Fine...just make it quick.”
“Ah, make no mistake woman, that’s my Specialty!” The long-haired brunette rolled her hazel eyes and set back to the rhythm of mechanical keys, allowing her lax cubicle-mate a final relief before turning around into that wood-panelled haven of last night’s remnants and this morning’s scavenged confectionaries. He could just make out some sort of commotion surrounding the upper-left’s plasma screen as he entered the room...