IC CONTACT

[postscriptum]

<span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">TO:</span> first.last@compass.net <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">CC:</span> firstname.lastname@compass.net <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">BCC:</span> firstname.lastname@compass.net, firstname.lastname@compass.net <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">FROM:</span> firstname.lastname@compass.net <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">DATE/TIME:</span> Day Twelve, Night. 63:19PM <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">SUBJECT:</span> (no subject) <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">MESSAGE:</span> No message. <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">CONTACT:</span> first.last@compass.net <span style="font-family:courier; color:#93002d;">MESSAGE:</span> <span style="font-family:courier; color:#000000;">text</span>

Comments

[postscriptum]

i know
he still tried to kill me

[expect]

I know

[postscriptum]

so he deserved it

[expect]

Continue this in person?

[postscriptum]

meet you where?

[expect]

Im just sort of wandering around outside right now
you?

[postscriptum]

i'll meet you at the campus entrance?

[expect]

See you in a few

[postscriptum]

[ amy's there a little later, dressed in a mini-skirt and just a t-shirt despite zelien's more old-fashioned appearance usually. well, it's a jungle now and the mosquitos are too big to just bite her legs, right?

one good thing about this. ] Hey.

[expect]

Hey. ( it's so bloody hot. even staying in the shade doesn't seem to help, the humidity is ridiculous. ridiculous enough that rory has forgone his usual two or more layers, sticking only to a single shirt — sleeves rolled up to the elbows, collar and top button left undone. he eyes amy's skirt with appreciation and a vague sense of envy; he's in full length trousers.

his hands are folded together; he's tracing over one of the knuckles on his right hand with his thumb, his mind still half on whale. )

Lovely weather, isn't it?

[postscriptum]

Warm.

[ that's a hummed agreement and — he is eyeing her skirt, but her gaze lingers on his arms. yes, let her just sidle up to rory and run her fingers over his ( oh so naked ) forearm. ]

No undershirt today, then?

[expect]

Have you been outside? ( he asks dryly, shivering in a not at all unpleasant way when amy's fingers slide up his skin — he wonders if this is some sort of 'you punched whale' thing. )

[postscriptum]

I'm outside now, aren't I?

[ it's a 'you punched whale' thing and an 'i like the way you look' thing. ]

[expect]

So you are, ( he agrees vaguely, because it's strangely hard to concentrate when she's like this. for some unknown reason. )

[postscriptum]

Yup. [ each letter is drawn out into its own syllable. thanks for punching whale on her behalf, rory. ]

So, you punched him, then.

[expect]

In the face, ( rory says. part of him's embarrassed about it; he honestly hadn't intended to go that far. but part of him, okay, he'll admit it, wants to impress her a little bit. it's not often he does this kind of thing. ) Quite hard.

[postscriptum]

[ she's spent too much time with the doctor to unquestionably glorify violence, but — whale tried to kill her.

yeah, she appreciates it. leaning in to kiss him: ] My hero.

[expect]

Anything for my lady, ( he says, all fake formal and smiling a bit. but he sobers quickly after the kiss, his expression falling to quite serious. something's obviously weighing on his mind. )

[postscriptum]

What is it? [ even if she didn't know how to read him so well, he isn't being particularly subtle about the fact that there's something on his mind right now. ]

[expect]

( he takes a breath, bracing. ) Did you hear about the Doctor?

[postscriptum]

No.

[ uh oh. ]

What is it, Rory? Tell me.

[expect]

( he hesitates — not out of a desire to shelter her or keep it from her, but because saying the words, aloud… ) Whale killed him.

[postscriptum]

He what?

[ say that this is a bad joke. ]

[expect]

( he just nods. he did. there's nothing else he can say, or do. )

[postscriptum]

[ dragging a hand over her face. ] Damn.