milliways_bar | (no subject)

Brennan is putting pieces together.

Not bones, this evening. Or facts of a case. She’s restricted from working on open cases for the time being. Her father’s trial is officially beginning and, as Booth, Angela and the others are witnesses for the prosecution, they are officially not allowed to work together for the duration. Even casual socializing is being frowned upon.

Brennan had anticipated the social discomfort of being on the opposite side of a trial from her friends and colleagues. What she had not anticipated was the feeling of isolation. Or the boredom.

There is plenty of work she could be doing on her own; bones from Limbo, writing and reviewing articles, grading papers, drafting chapter eleven of the new novel. But her usually well-developed ability to compartmentalize and focus on work also seems to have been adversely affected.

So instead Brennan is studying the pieces of a large jigsaw puzzle, laid out on the table in front of her. She’s already gotten the edges together, and patches of Van Gogh’s Starry Night are floating in the center. There’s a lot left to put together, though.

She wouldn’t mind making the project a collaborative effort.

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Brennan looks up from a particularly stubborn piece. She would have sworn that it was a bit of mountain, but so far she cannot find it's place.

"I find them very useful as a relaxation and meditative technique," she replies seriously.

And Brennan can use all the relaxation she can get at the moment.

"Really," Plourr says. "It's not boring."

It's a question, if lacking the ordinary verbal upswing at the end of the last word.

Edited 2008-10-13 03:05 (UTC)

"I don't find them to be, no," Brennan replies.

Brennan does not generally waste her time on activities she considers boring. Not if she has any other option.

"It's a mental challenge, albeit a mild one. Much like..." She studies the other woman's outfit for a moment. "Assembling a piece of machinery."

She glances down at herself; lets one side of her mouth curl upward in a reluctant, 'well, okay, at least you're observant' sort of a move.

"End result's a hell of a lot less satisfying, though," she says, and she grins, broad and easy.

"They are, no doubt, much more useful in your case," Brennan agrees.

A completed jigsaw puzzle has no intrinsic use. It's the satisfaction of having worked it that matters.

"But puzzles are a good way to pass the time."

"Would you like to try?" Brennan nods to an empty chair at her table.

There are very few things that Plourr would like less.

She has, however, been honing her diplomatic skills over the past few years.

"Not really," she says bluntly.

(Honing. It's a work in progress.)

"Not unless you want the pieces cut up and pounded to fit into the wrong spots." She is nothing if not honest, and impatient. "I'll watch you, though." She drops into the offered seat. Why not? She might as well talk to somebody while she's having her lunch; she didn't bring a datapad to look over.

She offers a strong, clean hand. "Plourr." (She'll respond to any kind of pressure in a handshake with more of the same, always being sure that her grip is tighter.)

Brennan can appreciate blunt. She herself is often accused of having extremely poor social skills. So directness in others doesn't bother her.

She much prefers it in fact. And takes no offense.

"Altering the pieces would defeat the purpose of the exercise."

She shakes the woman's offered hand. "Dr. Brennan," she replies.

Her own handshake is fairly firm, so it's probably to her credit that she doesn't flinch at the pressure exerted on the bones of her hand.

It's not one of Plourr's infamous bonecrushing handshakes; not by a long shot. But it's strong.

"I thought making them fit was the point of the exercise," she says, and she waves a waitrat over with an imperioud gesture.

"Not exactly, though we may be talking at cross purposes over a point of syntax," Brennan replies, moving a few pieces that look suspiciously tree-like to the side.

"The purpose is to find the pieces that fit together without forcing them to fit together."

She drops one piece into place, gently tapping it home to demonstrate.

They're definitely at cross purposes.

"Something wrong with forcing it?" she says (a little amused).

The rat turns up; Plourr orders nerfloaf in omaton sauce, an order of french fries, and a glass of lum. The rat goes skittering off.

"The pieces will break."

Cardboard doesn't stand up to a great deal of abuse.

"What do you do to relax?" Brennan asks, curiously.

She might need suggestions for the coming weeks.

"Punch things," she says, and she settles back in her seat, arm slung casually across the back of the chair. "Preferably people, but you take what you can get.

"Take apart engines, make my husband change the diapers."

That last one happens all the time.

Actually, all three of these happen all the time.

Brennan nods.

"I do enjoy martial arts. And practicing at the gun range."

"But my mechanical skills are not that well honed, and I don't currently have an infant in my care."

"Or a husband," she adds as an afterthought.

Martial arts and the gun range: she may be from Earth (Plourr doesn't even condescendingly curl her lip at the word 'gun'), but this woman's all right.

"You ever try blowing things up?" she says. "Makes one hell of a noise. Colors aren't anything to sneeze at, either."

"I've only ever experimented with explosives on one occasion," Brennan says, putting together a section of mountain.

"It was a matter of survival at the time," she adds, glancing up. "I don't make a habit of it."

"Some of my colleagues are fond of conducting experiments with them, though. We've had to place some restriction on them so that they did not compromise the structural integrity of the lab."

Hodgins and Zach can get a little carried away sometimes.

She nods, understanding enough. Survival situations aren't relaxing situations.

"The explosions are going to compromise the structural integrity, or your colleagues are?"

Must be some colleagues, is the implication.

That gets a bit of a smile out of Brennan.

"I was referring to the explosions themselves, but one might say that Hodgins and Zach themselves are dangerous to the structure of the lab."

"In the course of one experiment, they managed to seriously damage a room using a blow torch, painting supplies, and alcohol."

The Jeffersonian administration had not been pleased.

Brennan had been, though. That experiment had broken the case wide open.

"Painting supplies," says Plourr, consideringly. "That's a new one.

"What the hell were they experimenting on?"