milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Raven is settled in an armchair by the fire, legs sprawling over one arm, head tilted back across the other.

It's better than stretching, in some ways.

He's holding a plate of cookies on his belly, and occasionally eats one.

The rest of the time he hums, fingers picking absently at the unravelling sleeve of his coat.

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Ace eyes her.

"Yeeeeeah. No messing with Wash's dinosaurs."

Raven is not sulking.

"Very well. I will not play with Wash's dinosaurs--"

She grins.

"--perhaps."

"I refuse to take any responsibility to what will happen to Wash's dinosaurs if you start playing with them." Ace states categorically.

Yeah. Like she wouldn't make them march around the ship if she could.

Raven looks wounded.

"You are thinking I would ask you to?"

If Raven has her way, no one will have to take responsibility.

"I never know what to expect." Ace retorts, covering her bases. She might be thinking about a pretty pretty dress.

Raven just laughs.

"Wise of you, I think."

Though she would never make Ace wear pink.

Lavender, perhaps, but not pink.

This is good, because that's a serious deal-breaker. Not even the Doctor could convince her to wear pink. Not even the everloving Happiness Patrol could make her wear pink, and they turned the TARDIS pink.

"I am very wise. It is the great age, you see." She explains sagely.

"It will go better, perhaps, when your wrinkles have wrinkles."

Raven is very solemn.

Very.

"There are wrinkles." Ace informs her entirely too soberly. "Wrinkles on my soul."

Uh-huh.

Raven studies her carefully.

"Possibly there is an iron small enough to fit?"

Ace pouts at Raven. It's a very good pout, all things considered.

"Are you saying I have a tiny soul?" She's hurt, Raven. Really.

"Mostly I was disussing your pores, I think."

It's hard to get at souls.

"My pores are perfectly fine, ta very much you strange, strange bird." She huffs, eyeing her.

Raven just looks at Ace.

"It is only that they are very small."

This is a perfectly sensible explanation.

"They are supposed to be very small, y'daftie. If they were big, all the gooshy bits inside would leak out. Do you want me to be all puddle-like?" There is more severe eyeing.

Raven considers this question.

"Possibly gelatin is better?"

"Possibly?" Ace sniffs. "I knew it. You just love me for my eyeballs."

...

Right.

Raven pats her shoulder.

"This is true, I think. But I am letting them ripen first."

She's kidding.

Really.

"Humph. Woe is I. Don't even have a cookie to assauge my grief, an' all." She grouses as she stretches out along the rafter, managing to end up using Raven as a pillow. Again.

It's the feathers. Even if they aren't there at the moment. It is the idea of feathers.

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