milliways_bar | (no subject)

He nods, stilted and polite, and squints. Nope, ink is completely ruined. He'll have to try to recreate that page from what he remembers. He leans back in the air and stifles what wants to be a long sigh as best he can.

She bristles a little further but...

She's the one who tripped.

So she firmly bites her own tongue and, nodding to him, heads back towards the bar.

He should say something else, he really should, but it's hard to think of something nice to say to this woman.

She did him a good turn once - saved his life - but she's been so determinedly unpleasant since then. And before then.

Sigh.

"Ask for Mexican drinking chocolate, if you haven't had it before." he says carefully, "It has cinnamon and other things that taste quite good in it."

If it'd been something she'd not heard of before, she probably would have only shot him a deeply suspicious look and not ordered it.

But she has heard of it.

It was on her list of 'things with cinnamon in' she made after her talk with Annie about... ahem. Things.

A thermos of the stuff appears after she asks for it quietly.

"Ta." She says, and when she looks back at him, it's the version that's not all teeth and claws. She can be non-vicious!

Xaldin is just tired. He's not prickling, he's not biting, he's not fighting or looking to fight. He's tired. The paleness of his skin makes the bags under his eyes look like bruises and exhaustion has leached deep lines into the harsh planes of his cheeks. If he had less willpower he'd fall asleep where he is - as it is he gives the impression of not intending to sleep for however long it takes to repair the damage done to his report.

"You're welcome."

If she wasn't afraid of him ~~hurting her family~~ ~~lecturing her again~~ ... period, she'd probably note that he looks rather like death warmed over and make an attempt at badgering him into some sort of nap.

But...

That's not the way things are.

So she nods, again, this time less bristly and more considering, and scoops up her thermos.

"Do try t'not collapse. The rats hate takin' care of bodies." As she well knows, sadly. Clearly, Ace is not good at changing her basic instincts. Xaldin gets some complimentary badgering, on the house.

"I don't have time to collapse." simply, quietly, without heat. He's not going to do anything to her - he has never done anything to her - and he's not the kind of man to get off on scaring women.

Her attitude does annoy him, and it shows in the faint tightening of the lines beside his eyes.

That earns a raised eyebrow, but... who knows. Maybe his sort don't collapse.

OH WAIT.

Yes they do. In TARDISes.

"Whatever, mate." It'll be Frack's problem when Frick goes down, won't it now?

There is a flash, just a hint, of temper before Xaldin reaches out with that iron will of his and slams it back into it's box with chilly finality.

He slips out of his chair and onto his knees in front of her gracefully - turning his face up and saying in a voice that treads the line between subservient and whipped "Oh forgive me grand mistress for daring to prioritize my work for an otherwise damned people above your all-knowing and so compassionate orders! Of course I will instantly forsake recreating the research that was ruined until I have forgotten most of it all for the sake of a few hours rest."

"... Mate, y'haven't issues, you've entire backlogged serials." Ace replies, blinking sort-of-down at him.

It's not her fault she's short.

"I wasn't aware some law'd been passed that I had t'be sunshine an' poseys to someone who's only shown disdain in return."

"I have been studiously polite to you since you saved my life" Xaldin says still in the grovelling tones - although it gets sharper as he continues, "I have avoided you because that is what you have expressed you want. I have been helpful when I can. I have attempted to explain things that you have an imperfect - at best! - grasp of with the same care I used when I was Dilan. Acting like a regular person has led to nothing except the sharp side of your tongue - this is what you seem to demand from me."

"Mate, I only demand you don't hurt me an' mine. Other than that, I don't give a damn what y'do, but I certainly don't appreciate the attitude of flippin' superiority you've got all the bleedin' time. So if y'don't like me respondin' to it, perhaps y'should keep it to y'self."

Ace has never been afraid to give her opinion, good or bad.

Exhaustion causes him to speak in a torrent of sound

"Every hint of attitude that you ascribe to me is put there by you. I do not have an attitude of superiority. I have done my best to be polite."

"You knocked into my table and all I said was a polite careful - followed by a suggestion of a drink I thought you might enjoy. You appear to have such a deeply ingrained prejudice against me that every single thing I say will be treated as having an attitude of superiority."

"If I take your abuse you heap more of it on me. If I attempt to respond you tell me that I am copping an attitude. If I attempt to politely take my leave you accuse me of running away."

"You have been acting like a spoiled child who is used to adults giving her whatever she wants regardless of her actions."

"Like I am obligated to take whatever abuse you choose to heap on me - and you will heap abuse on me - because of things that I did both before I was capable of understanding the consequences of and before you met the person you call friend."

"I am and remain grateful to you for saving my life. I am and remain in your debt for that. If you choose to burn off that debt being the equivalent of a high-school mean-girl I warn you that it will not be long before you have run through your credit."

"... Why the hell do y'think I want your credit, mate?" Because really? The best way to get someone to reconsider their actions is not to throw insults. Really. "Stuff y'credit. I helped you 'cause it was the right thing t'do, an' I don't condone torture."

"You apparently condone verbal torture - constantly telling me that everything I am as I have recovered is wrong does count."

He waves a gloved hand at himself

"I am fairly obviously not in a safely stable condition - but all that seems to matter is that you have the chance to throw more barbs."

"... You're the one who threw himself down there, mate. You can't keep prolongin' conversations, then accuse me of verbal torture." She points out, stepping back. "Here, let me show y'how t'do it - y'just... walk away."

He stands up again and finally gives her a look as full of disdain as she's been accusing him of.

"Of course. Because when you do that it isn't cowardice."

She accused him of that, once.

Ace snorts, walking backwards.

"Whatever gave you that idea? You scare the bleedin' hell out of me. Sommat t'do with the way you an' your buddy have been havin' fun scarin' the hell out of my mate. Shockin' the way that works."

Honestly. Where do people get these ideas?

"We haven't done anything to or near your mate since before we got our hearts" Xaldin says, returning to his ruined report "I haven't even been here in months."

"... Oh, sorry, forgot I was supposed t'be bleedin' telepathic on top of everything else. Later, sunshine. Or, what seems t'be better - let's not." She decides, turns on her heel, and stalks towards the door.

He shakes his head and collects a blank piece of paper - staring at it for a moment before cursing and packing up to leave again. He needs to find that world and re-survey it.