Strictly Business [Closed] - Printable Version
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RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-03-2016
Drusilla’s decision to sleep in had not been executive so much as negligent. She had forgotten to set an alarm. She woke with a start to the sound of her phone chirping happily that she’d received a text message. “Shit,” she groaned after glancing at her bedside clock. It glared 10:30 AM at her in bright red. She was beyond late. Which was unfortunate because she had kind of wanted to go back to sleep and finish that delightful dream. Thoughts of his hands and his body on hers had not ceased when she’d lost consciousness. Still cursing she forced herself out of the bed to get ready in record time. When she appeared in the foyer, she found the house mostly dark and very quiet. Her ears fell to either side of her head as she sighed in relief. Her watch said 11:15, but if he wasn’t awake to notice, she technically wasn’t late. Probably. Between the scotch and the pills she was not surprised that Owen wasn’t up. At least she might have time to put the house back together before he made an appearance.
She started by cleaning up the tracks and the blood that he’d left from the foyer to the kitchen. The tile and the counter tops were easy enough. She had doubts for the upholstery on the chair, but she hadn’t gone to check. He’d left his gun on the floor and though it was harmless on its own it still made her nervous. She frowned at it from the distance of the kitchen; she really needed to check the chair before any damage was irreparable. Steeling herself she resolved to giving the weapon a wide berth as she inspected the chair. Finding it amazingly unscathed, she tucked it back beneath the table and grabbed the bottle of scotch to return it to the liquor cabinet.
Movement upstairs alerted her to his being awake. She moved about the kitchen to prepare the coffee pot and start a fresh brew. As she waited, she put together the necessary report paperwork he would need to fill out in response to the previous night’s mission. Layering it neatly in a manila folder, she placed the packet on his desk. She continued to work even though she heard him slowly coming down the stairs. She had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate her immediately fussing over him. Remembering that she wanted to double-check some details on an upcoming assignment, she searched through the stack of folders on his desk. “I’m here,” she called back, locating what she needed and pulling it out without disrupting the rest of the precarious papers. Her tail swayed around her ankles as she went back into the kitchen for coffee. His voice was clearly coming from the dining room and she really hoped he was doing something about that gun.
“That’s certainly understandable, sir,” she said as she appeared in the space that adjoined the dining room to the kitchen. It had been her voice to announce her presence, this afternoon and not the click of her heels. She’d worn flat shoes today. Lacy and white to match the low-cut top that offset the deep red of her jeans and her jacket. Her hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the top of her head, her bangs still a fringe across her brows. She held a mug of coffee in one hand, and had the stack of files tucked into the crook of the other arm. Her gaze cast towards the rifle he held, warily, before she approached him. Only close enough to offer the coffee. “If you need anything, just let me know.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-04-2016
The muted musicality of her voice greeted him from somewhere in the house. A sigh of relief almost left him, but the tension he’d carried in his shoulders did relax. She was there. Professional as ever - attractive as ever - as she clutched files and offered him his morning coffee. The gun was abandoned on the table as Owen accepted the cup. He drank from it deeply looking to the caffeine to clear his still groggy mind. He had noted the cautious look in her eyes when she entered the room. The way she stood back from him as he held the rifle. His suspicions were confirmed. The weapon had made her nervous. Or was it that he was holding a loaded weapon that made her nervous?
He gestured to the rifle on the table,“I apologize for leaving that out. It was loaded and that’s unacceptable. I’m not performing at peak these days it seems. I think it’s probably time you learn how to handle a gun anyhow.”
He returned the mug to his lips and sipped at the coffee thoughtfully. He surveyed her over the rim wondering how she managed to look so put together after such a late night. She seemed shorter than usual. Eyes flicked to lace adorned shoes with no heel. “I like those little shoes.” He mused from behind the mug. A few more gulps and the glass would be empty. His free hand moved to hover over her head a couple of inches. “I noticed because usually you are right about here and today you’re here.” His hand lowered to the level of her forehead. He grinned mischievously and lowered the mug so she could see.
The hand that had been taunting her about her height lowered and flipped over. Owen wiggled his fingers indicating he wanted the files from her. “I appreciated your assistance last night. How late did you stay? I’ll be sure you are well compensated for your time.” It was the most professional and distant way he could say ‘thank you.’ Also a way to perhaps ferret from her some idea of how long she’d lingered after he fell asleep. It would help if he even knew when he’d fallen asleep but he could guestimate.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-04-2016
Drusilla’s ears swiveled backwards when he gestured towards the rifle. She glanced at it, but her mouth remained a red-painted line across her face. Brows raised when he mentioned that she should learn how to handle it. “That's-” she paused, unsure of how to continue. His words had not sounded like the subject was up for debate. Her mouth pressed closed again, and the line turned into a frown. “I think I'd rather not,” she explained, lamely. The idea of handling a gun did not appeal, and quite frankly frightened her. Her tail curled against the line of her spine as her ears pushed forwards once more. She hoped her denial did not prompt an argument. He was watching her and she stood passively under his gaze. She did not dress for his approval, but his comments the night before had her wondering what he thought of her appearance. His eyes darted towards her shoes and she immediately predicted his following comments. She shifted on her feet, and found herself trying not to smile. She was supposed to be annoyed with him, but she was finding that grin of his to be infectious. “I'm glad you like them,” she replied in a monotone. She debated on reminding him that she was a normal height. She decided against it, since her previous attempts had been perceived as him being lauded for his excessive tallness.
She decided to wear heels for a while just to spite him.
“These aren't for you,” she said of the files to explain why she did not hand them over. Instead, she gestured for his empty mug. “I noticed an error on an upcoming itinerary. Somewhere down the line a travel distance was changed from fifteen kilometers to fifteen miles.” When she retrieved the mug from him she briefly moved back into the kitchen to refill it. “The reports youneed to file are on your desk,” she explained, voice elevated just enough for him to hear her from the coffee pot. “I can bring them to you if you'd like to work somewhere more comfortable.” She returned and handed the mug off to him again.
“It's not a problem, sir. I'm just happy you're doing well.” Her tail dropped to her feet and swayed gently back and forth when he questioned how long she had stayed. Too long if she were perfectly honest. Petting his hair and cuddling him long after he'd fallen asleep. She cleared her throat, pinning the files close to her chest and briefly looking at her shoes. “I left around two in the morning,” she admitted. Her admission was banking on him having lost track of time between the scotch and the bedroom. She wondered if he remembered the cuddling at all, or if he was willing to chalk it up to some strange booze-and-pill induced dream.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-07-2016
Owen nodded his head curtly that he had heard and understood her hesitancy around weapons. “And that is why you will learn because you are uncomfortable. I can tell.” Owen put his hand on her shoulder. It was a gentle touch. “This is a large part of my work. We can wait a little while until you are more comfortable with me.” The hand was gone and back at his side. Drusilla refused to turn over the files and reached for his mug instead which he let her take. Owen turned and followed her to the entry of the kitchen while she spoke. He leaned against the wall and massaged his sore shoulder. After the previous evening the news that someone had transposed miles for kilometers heated him. “Who the fuck is not using metric? I want to know who is making these kinds of mistakes before you fix them. This has got to stop.” Owen was out for blood and the target transposing miles and kilometers was an easy target to take out.
He moved into the kitchen to take the coffee from her and eased himself into the breakfast nook booth. Apparently that was her answer as to where he would work for the day. "Fine."
Sipping at the new cup of coffee Owen calculated the hours. If she had left around two to come back at 6 A.M. as she usually did then she wouldn't have gotten even four hours of sleep. Yet she seemed well rested and put together as she always was. "Two last night. And what time did you come in this morning?" The question was posed with a sly lilt to his voice as if he'd actually caught her in the act of arriving late.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-09-2016
Drusilla didn’t argue, but for a moment she looked like she wanted to argue. It was short-lived, her face falling into that perfect expressionless mask. Ears stood at attention at the top of her head. Her tail went still when he placed a hand on her shoulder, falling to her feet with a slight curl at the end of it. She didn’t react otherwise, though, she thought he choice of wording a bit strange. ‘More comfortable with me,’ was oddly specific, but then again maybe not given the history that they still weren’t addressing. At least not outright, but there had been hints. Especially the night before in his vulnerable state. “Yes, sir,” was all she replied in concession. “I only noticed last night,” she explained, fingers began carefully picking through the stack of beige folders until she found something she was looking for. “You were unavailable to me at the time, so I went ahead with correcting it.” You’d been on a mission, she didn’t say. You’d been getting hurt and disheartened and stumbling your way home while I’d been converting miles to kilometers, was another thing she also did not stay. A slight furrow of her brow as she failed to police her expression. “The error was made somewhere in correspondence between Private Kendrick and Sargent Cushman.” She winced internally at the first name. Kendrick was already on thin ice.
Fine. Fine, fine, fine. What she was supposed to infer from that one little word she had no idea. He seemed to favor using it with her, however. It sounded slightly reluctant in her ears, as if he was somehow unwillingly acquiescing to whatever she’d requested before he’d responded with fine. Drusilla disappeared briefly to retrieve the paperwork he needed from where she’d left it on his desk. She lingered at the nook long enough to set it in front of him, before turning away. “I’ll make you some breakfast and then you can have some more pain meds, if you want them.”
A swift movement on her heel had her back to him, as he posed his most recent question. Ears twitched and her tail picked up an erratic movement around her knees. “Eleven-fifteen,” she admitted without turning to look at him again. Words pushed past clenched teeth implied that she was willing to be equally disappointed in her lateness. As she crossed the kitchen she could hear a sort of rumbling noise in the distance, but she ignored it as she went about preparing to cook.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-14-2016
With the gun debate settled for the moment and her announcement that the mistake had something to do with a certain Private on Owen’s shit-list, he remained quiet for the moment. Quiet like a predator preparing to pounce on it’s prey. His pride was wounded. He was wounded. And now he had an acceptable target to take it out on. “Fine.” He said for the second time that morning. Agreeing to eat breakfast. Agreeing to the plan to have pain medications after breakfast. Owen had come to trust in Drusilla’s judgment largely in terms of what was best for him. Though he would have preferred to dry swallow a few more pills right then, he’d wait until she felt it was appropriate for him to have more. Fine.
She had returned with the files that he was no longer interested in while he had negligent Kendrick on the brain. If he had been equally committed to punishing all mistakes, he might have been angry with Drusilla for showing up late to work. But he wasn’t. She’d stayed late for some reason. She’d climbed in bed with him at his insistence and let him lay his head on her chest.
She’d stayed late and slept in late. He imagined her waking in a rush. Hurrying to work just in time to beat him getting out of bed. Trying to act as if she hadn’t been late but willing to admit it anyways when he asked. Why. Why had she stayed. Why was she so willing to tell that little truth when she could have easily lied? Everything she did was endearing. The damn lacey shoes. He forced the intrusive thoughts away. No more ruminating about his assistant.
“I figured as much.” Was all he said on the matter of her tardiness before he pushed himself up from the breakfast nook leaving the files she’d brought sitting there. Leaving the impression behind that she couldn't hide things from him. Not even the matter of tardiness while he slept. He moved into his office to make a phone call to Katanya demanding that she transfer Private Kendrick from the Special Reconnaissance Forces. He would no longer tolerate the mistakes of Kendrick. Sexual harasser and user of the Imperial instead of the Metric system.
While engaged on the phone call, Owen hadn’t noticed the slow rumble that grew until it was in his own front yard. It was a sound of the engine of a large diesel with gleaming red paint. The engine was cut and a man wearing a brown cowboy hat jumped down from the driver’s seat. A faded jean shirt was tucked into darker pants leaving an ornate silver belt buckle on display. The oval shaped accessory featured the Rocky Mountains in the background with a foreground of two moose feeding on a field of grass. Colorado pride on display.
He rapped on the door. A quiet and slow rhythm. There was no insistence or hurry in the way he knocked When the door opened, he tipped his hat to the woman in red, immediately identifying Owen’s alluring assistant who he’d heard a lot about from those at headquarters who’d met her.
“I’m here to see Lieutenant Colonel Hart, ma’am.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-15-2016
Drusilla’s expression soured while her back was turned to him. I figured as much. How could he be so cocky when she’d literally outed herself to him. She cracked eggs into a bowl and whipped them with a fork like they had done her some great misdeed. She didn’t reply, largely because she was in no position for a smarmy quip, and because she could hear him rising from the nook. All in all it was better than being reprimanded, and she glanced at him over her shoulder as he left the kitchen. Ears swiveled as her gaze dropped to the table where he’d left the paperwork. She huffed. The noise she’d noticed earlier grew close enough for her to recognize it as the sound of a truck. She paid it no mind as she transferred a hearty ham and cheese omelette to a plate and refilled Owen’s coffee. She gathered the food and the mug as well as she files from the table, and balanced them expertly as she brought them all to his office. He’d left the door mostly a jar, so she nudged it open with her hip. Crossing the room she set the food on a clear edge of the desk, before arranging the files and the mug in front of him, wordlessly.
The clamor of the diesel grew closer still and then stopped. Ears twitched curiously as she turned on her heel and left Owen to his phone call. She closed the door of the office behind her. Knocking at the front door, her tail swayed at her feet as she backtracked to the foyer. The Lieutenant Colonel had never had unannounced visitors to him home since she’d started working there. Everything and everyone was on a precise and orderly schedule that, for the most part, she organized herself. This was almost exciting.
Opening the door she was surprised, for some reason, by the man who stood on the other side of it. It may have been the way he tipped his hat at her, or the way he called her ma’am. Ears pricked to attention as the show of manners. Drusilla stepped back, pulling the door wider with her to allow him to enter the foyer. Her gaze swept over him, though it lingered much too long on the intricate belt buckle. In her defense it was very distracting, and very obviously meant to be looked at. Her eyes darted back towards his face.
“I’m Drusilla. Lt. Colonel Hart’s assistant,” she introduced, despite the fact that it was likely he already knew. She held out her hand in the offerings of a shake. “I’ll inform him you’ve stopped by Mr….?” Her voice trailed to allow him to fill in the blanks.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-15-2016
Owen had left the door to his office opened enough to signal to Drusilla that she could enter without disturbing him. He knew she would come bearing the things that he’d left behind on the breakfast nook in his snap decision to move into the office for a discussion with the Major. “The detonators would have been in proximity to an elementary school playground had that report gone through uncorrected.” His enunciation was clipped and gruff suggestive of the explosive anger sure to come. As he spoke, grey eyes tracked his assistant as she moved about in his office. She entered with a wave of scent. Her perfume and the smell of the food she'd brought. A dangerous combination for a lonely man with a large appetite.
Though she was already crossing the room, Owen waved his hand to give her permission to approach him. He moved the body of the landline phone into his lap to rest on his thigh, pulling the cord with him, to make room for the food she’d brought.
“Forsynth I - no you listen -” he started and was cut off by the woman on the other line. Owen fell quiet for a moment while Drusilla arranged the plate and files on his desk. Not a moment had passed and he pushed himself out of the chair to slam the phone back onto the desk with little care for it’s finish. The dishes clattered with the strike.
“I told you I want that little shit Kendrick transferred! I don’t give a fuck about a personnel deficit. I care about whether we are turning over sandboxes with explosives! Do you see what I’m saying? Think about little dismembered fingers and burned little bodies on the news and tell me he doesn’t deserve a fucking transfer. I’d discharge him if I could.”
Somewhat placated by his own explosion Owen sank back into his chair. “Close my door. And answer the other one. Please.” He halfway barked the instructions at Drusilla with his hand cupping the receiver. In his determination to punish Kendrick, Owen had little interest in whoever was at the door. Perhaps some package. There was always something arriving. He just wanted the knocking to stop. Even ‘please’ was a command. More of a ‘hurry it up.’
Sanders as a contrast was patient. He smiled to himself and breathing the air deeply as he waited. He took a step back from the door and linked his thumbs through his belt loops when it opened to reveal Owen's new assistant. Noticing where her gaze lingered, he cocked his head pointedly trying to capture her gaze. Up here honey, he seemed to say with sparkling cornflower blue eyes. “May I?” He asked even as she moved aside to allow him to enter the home.He took the hand offered to him gripping it at the ends of her fingers the way a man would in times past perhaps. He pulled her fingers upwards and brushed a kiss across the back of her knuckles before releasing her again. “Captain Sanders Strafford. Air Force.” He greeted her with his military rank and branch as a credentialing to gain further access. Owen had a tendency to train his assistants to be suspicious and paranoid. Apparently that wasn’t necessarily so with this one as she had moved aside willingly letting him in without questioning.
“Is he busy? No need to interrupt him or anything. He wasn’t expecting me.” As if he’d been to the home many times before, and he had, Sanders moved passed the assistant and took the most direct path to the kitchen. “I heard the assignment did not go so well last night so I stopped by to check on the good ole Lieutenant Colonel. His pride is so easily wounded you know.”
He winked at her over his shoulder and as he opened the cabinet containing coffee mugs to help himself to the brew still in the pot. Sanders moved about the kitchen as if he knew where everything was easily identifying the silverware drawer and the canister of sugar to sweeten his cup. Just a hint of cream from the refrigerator and Sanders settled against the counter with his coffee sipping the drink around the spoon that he left in the cup.
“So how do you like working for him? I heard some bets were going down at Central as to how long you’d last.” Sanders stirred his coffee. A useless action, he merely did it to watch the tan liquid swirl around. “Give me the scoop so I can make an informed wager.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-16-2016
Drusilla’s tail had bristled to the tone of Owen’s voice as he verbally battled Major Forsyth. An involuntary reaction triggered by his brimming anger. It had twitched erratically behind her knees, and was the only thing that betrayed her otherwise stone-faced approach into his office. When he rose and dropped the phone back upon the desk it had taken nearly all of her willpower not to freeze, forcing herself to continue working past the misplaced fear she felt from the situation. A wince around her eyes and a twitch of her ears that she hoped he hadn't noticed, before she slowly back away from the desk. Nodding her compliance to his demands and disappearing from the room. Now, she was faced with a smiling cowboy who had caught her staring at his belt buckle. Which was not a perfect first impression. Still, she refused to be blamed when such a ridiculous thing was put on display specifically for that reason. Her expression was as unreadable as ever as she held his gaze, ignoring that knowing look that crinkled the fine lines around his very blue eyes.
“My apologies, Captain,” she said, emphasizing the title she’d not been aware of before as she pulled her hand back to her side. His greeting having left a lingering trail of warmth across her knuckles. Her expression, or lack thereof did not change, but there was a touch more color to her cheeks than usual. She adjusted the sleeves of her crimson blazer to have something to do with her hands. Owen hadn’t quite ‘trained’ her, as she had easily adjusted herself to being able to interpret his needs and carry out her duties to meet them. She was largely left alone, but now faced with a stranger who claimed to know her boss, perhaps addressing the whole of the Lieutenant Colonel’s expectations would not be a terrible idea for the future.
She shut the door as Sanders started to walk away from her. “He’s taking a call,” she explained, hurrying after him. “I will him know you’ve arrived.” Her steps nearly double-timed as compared to his lengthy strides. She wished for the authoritative click of her heels as he followed behind him, but a part of her felt he would have been immune to their effect.
“I was informed there were some complications with the mission.” She simply agreed with his statement, did not and would not offer what details she knew. It was not her place to do so, and she did not know this man. Drusilla stood in the entry as she watched Captain Strafford move around the kitchen. There was a slight downward curve to the middle of her brow, and the cause was because she felt somewhat useless. It had nothing to do with the easy way he moved around what she largely, though secretly, considered to be her kitchen. Ears twitched in the face of how easily and comfortably he leaned against the counter.
His final question caught her off-guard. Lips parted as if she would respond, but closed again. She buttoned her blazer, because she was standing and she should have already done so and because once again she needed something to do with her hands. A desire usually brought upon by her own nerves. “I...don’t mind working for him,” she replied, adjusting the placement of her watch and dropping her hands. Her response, noncommittal at best, but she felt it best not to commit to anything at the moment. Especially, since she found the reason for his questioning to be dubious.
She excused herself before he could analyze her answer in her presence and returned to Owen’s office. She knocked quickly and lightly to announce her presence, but opened it without waiting for permission. There was a cowboy making himself comfortable in the kitchen after all.
“There is a Captain Strafford here to see you,” she informed Owen, prepared to ignore the surge of annoyance she would face in response.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-16-2016
“Ah no worries, ma’am!” Sanders laughed off the awkward initial meeting noting that Owen’s assistant seemed a little tense. He chalked it up to working for the Lieutenant Colonel who he knew could be rather...severe when it came to his occupation. Nevertheless, this Drusilla was a stylish little woman with feline features blushing on account of him. This day was getting better and better. First a sunny drive to the city, the opportunity to rub salt in his friend's wounds, and now a cute little assistant to play with. Sanders was intrigued and not necessarily eager to draw his friend from his office just yet. “I was just in the neighborhood, I’m off today so I have plenty of time.” He prattled at her happily as he traversed the living room trying to put her at ease.
A frown cast a cloud over his face when Drusilla confirmed that the mission had not been an exact success. He nodded slowly and thoughtfully as if the idea of the Lieutenant Colonel in danger was upsetting to him. “I’m glad he’s okay. Only need to worry when it’s bad enough to send him to the military hospital I guess.” He quickly shrugged off the darker topic trading it for the matter of her employment.
Sanders was the type of coffee drinker that sipped loudly at his beverage. And he did so as Drusilla hesitantly admitted to not necessarily disliking her vocation. “Well good,” Sanders cheerful reply was somewhat misplaced in her absent enthusiasm. “I know he appreciates the help. He’s had nothing but good things to say about you.” Sanders laughed suddenly, slapping his thigh. “I asked him once how he liked his new assistant and he got that face, you know the one.” He straightened his jovial expression to something very Owen-like. Blank and stony. “‘She’s fine. She does well.’ He said. Very seriously. The highest compliment I’ve ever heard him give any of his assistants.”
When Drusilla knocked on the door to his office, Owen didn’t answer. He was embroiled a conference call with the a general, the lieutenant general, the major, and several other advisors going over every detail of the prior evening’s failures. He covered the phone receiver and held the phone far away from his face. “Fine. Keep him busy. Or send him away. I don’t care.”
He instantly regretted the option to keep him busy as images of Sanders’ ridiculous belt buckle collection swirled in his mind. Distractedly he wondered which one his friend wore that day and how Miss Haven might take to the handsome too charming cowboy. The day was not going well for the bruised Lieutenant Colonel.
Upon her return to the kitchen, Sanders was refilling his coffee mug. He turned to look at her over his shoulder. "Oh how rude of me. Would you like some coffee, ma'am? Here let me make you a cup." The coffee pot was abandoned to the counter top with a clatter of the lid as Sanders moved to reach for a coffee mug for the assistant. Apparently, he was content to treat her as the guest in Owen's house.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-16-2016
Sanders’ contentment to move around the house was doing the exact opposite in which he intended. His easy comfort only agitated her, not that it showed on her face or her mannerisms. It was her job to assist and now there was a strange guest in her employer’s home that was intent on assisting himself and she found this to be maddening. The Captain moved through talking points quickly. The nature of his visit, and his concern for Owen were all touched and abandoned in the same manner. He was more interested in talking about her job, and in short, her. Drusilla resisted a frown, but that wasn’t impressive given the blank state of her face. She cocked a brow when he revealed that the Lieutenant Colonel had been saying good things about her. Paired with the tilt of her head she looked dubious, until further explanation was offered. Her features smoothed and she nodded understandably as Sanders performed a very accurate representation of what she imagined Owen had sounded like when speaking of her work. “Well, naturally I am happy to be of assistance,” she sounded very diplomatic as she linked her fingers together. “And I am pleased to hear Agent Hart is satisfied with my performance.”
As per usual, Drusilla acquiesced to Owen’s demands with a nod of her head. She collected the dishes from breakfast, moving quickly and silently to free up the space on his desk, lest he need to slam any more phones as she conversation continued. She attempted to use the short walk between Owen’s office and the kitchen to clear her head. A grumpy boss in one room and an cheerful cowboy in another was doing very little when it came to settling her nerves. And walking away from one and into another did not clear her head.
Sanders was ma’aming her again when she reappeared in the kitchen, and offering her coffee like he was the politest man on Earth. For a brief moment, Drusilla was furious, but quickly realized the reaction was out of place. A handsome cowboy in her kitchen, offering her coffee like he owned the place had her feeling strangely possessive.
He owned the kitchen about as much as she did, but that did not stop her from mentally claiming it.
“No thank you,” she replied too quickly, crossing the kitchen to leave the dishes in the sink. “I don’t drink coffee,” she explained, further as to not sound like she was just snapping at him. Washing her hands in the sink, she dried them with a paper tower. “The Lieutenant Colonel is still talking a call.” Aloud he was always his specialization or his rank, she only referred to him as Owen in her head. “He has requested that I ‘keep you busy’ or ‘send you away’,” she presented these options with a fleeting apologetic look. Sanders’ friendly nature had her feeling like she could be more candid with him, and it was likely the men were friends enough to know that Owen didn’t mean anything by it. Her ears pricked to attention, tail swaying slowly behind her head. “So, whichever you would prefer I suppose.”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-19-2016
As Drusilla put on her show of professionalism, Sanders sipped loudly at his coffee. He gazed at the brown liquid glad for the stimulation that caffeine offered as it seemed this assistant was not easily thawed out. He wished she would say more. Give him some juicy gossip about his friend. No wonder Owen kept her around. She was good at discretion.That and she waited on him hand and foot it seemed if the evidence of her carrying dirtied dishes from his office was any sign. But Sanders knew that had been part of the role that Owen was looking for in an assistant. He hadn’t expected it to seem so domestic when he witnessed it. Sanders smirked against the rim of his coffee cup. It was almost as if his friend had a little wife. Sexy little cat wife in red. No wonder Owen kept her around.
“More for me then.” He mocked her gently while she washed her hands.
Sanders laughed aloud at the options that Owen had given her. Keep him busy or send him away. Tapping a finger thoughtfully against the mug Sanders shrugged, “It’s my preference? Interesting interpretation on the Lieutenant Colonel’s instructions.”
He arched an eyebrow which seemed to suggest that Drusilla had gotten Owen’s intent all wrong. Shouldn’t she know that he expected her to parse out what he wanted and act accordingly? Sanders could imagine that Owen wouldn’t want his wifey playing around with a man dressed like a country star as Owen liked to say.
“Maybe I could keep you busy?” He looked sort of mischievous, narrowing his eyes at her to size her up, as he finished off his coffee. Sanders moved to the kitchen sink and took care to wash the mug out with soap and water. He dried the dish carefully with a towel slung over the oven handle. “I don’t just dress like a cowboy, you know, I could show you a trick or two?”
He lingered next to her at the sink for a moment to gauge her reaction to his vague indication of how they could keep each other busy before he returned the cup to its resting place in the cabinet.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-19-2016
One of Drusilla’s ears fell lopsided, her tail lifted to sway gently behind her head. The sound of his laughter filled the kitchen. There was almost something contagious about it, but Drusilla remained as passive as usual. She wasn’t entirely made of ice, but there was a thick layer between the outside world and then warmer woman that lingered beneath the surface. Sanders was doing his best to chip away at it. “For the most part,” she replied, spreading her hands in a meaningless gesture. She almost looked as if she meant to shrug her shoulders. She was aware that Owen’s demands had weighed more heavily on the ‘send him away’ end of the spectrum, but she was just as interested in his cowboy, air force captain friend, as Sanders seemed to be in her. “I merely meant to imply that he often gets very absorbed in his work. I can’t guarantee that you won’t be waiting for an extended period of time.” Yes, that sounded better. Continued bouts of diplomacy, like a good assistant. She had yet to pick up on the amusing notion of her domestication.
Not that she would have found it as amusing.
There was something about the look in his eye, that made her expression turn dubious. She moved to the side, only far enough to give him room to wash the mug. She silently refused to be displaced by him, washing mugs and being polite and charming, and etc. “What do you mean?” she asked automatically, clearly not interested agreeing to anything without knowing the details. She wished for her heels again, not that they would have saved her from being forced to look up at him. Why were all these men to tall, she grumbled internally, refusing to consider that she was the short one.
Sanders was close enough that she could smell his aftershave; close enough for her arm to brush his if she moved the wrong way. She very pointedly did not move. She couldn’t help the dubious raise of one brow, an almost imperceptible twitch to the corner of her mouth. “What kind of tricks?”
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - saronym - 11-19-2016
Sanders almost laughed at her. Something akin to a snort came out from a mouth locked in a toothy smile. “Ah I’m not worried about waiting too long.” He swiped a hand at the air to dispel the notion. “I’m Owen’s best friend. He’ll make time.” Sanders made the claim to being Owen’s number one with confidence and boasting. There was no doubt in his mind that Owen had never mentioned his name to his assistant so he was curious to see how his allegation would go down. It also occurred to him that this poor woman knew little to nothing about Owen in terms of the little facts about his personal life. He wondered what she’d wrested out of the secretive man if anything at all. She didn’t seem so keen on sharing. No wonder Owen kept her around.
He was acutely aware of the stubborn way she held her ground next to him at the sink. That only made him take a half step towards her so that his elbow brushed her arm as he washed. “Oh excuse me.” Little effort was made to sound as if he wished to actually be excused. He grinned down at her like this was all a fun little joke to him.
And it was.
He got to play with Owen’s assistant while Owen was stuck doing whatever work thing. He got to get the sweet dish on Owen’s new assistant to deal out to their other friends.
“Well,” he drew the word out playfully while stashing the cup in the cabinet, “I could show you how to use a lasso?” Sanders whirled around and spread his hands out trying to look like this was a very interesting prospect. Truth be told he wasn't so inclined to teach her how to use it so much as use the lasso on her for his amusement.
He just wanted to be able to brag to the gang that he’d lassoed Owen’s assistant. Already imagining the looks on all of their faces.
RE: Strictly Business [Closed] - megs - 11-20-2016
Drusilla’s ears swiveled forward, positioning themselves towards Sanders curiously. Her tail had stopped its sway behind her head, hanging poised in the air just behind her shoulder. She was visibly surprised when the captain established himself as Owen’s best friend. She was starting to think the lieutenant colonel didn't have any friends at all let alone a best one. A brief flicker of realization crossed her features; a widening of her eyes, red lips rounding into an ‘o.’ Suddenly, his polite patience to waiting on his injured friend and his attempts to make her the subject of conversation made more sense. Sanders was on a mission. It may not have been his original intention, but now he found himself with the unique opportunity to get to know Owen’s assistant. A hot gossip topic she assumed, what with Owen being... himself. And now she was the cat girl that worked for him and that he spoke highly of in his own way. If there were friends for Sanders to report to, she had a feeling she would be seeing more of them.
She didn't react when his arm touched hers, only humming a dismissal to his half-hearted apology. Drusilla pushed away from the counter, as he moved to put the cup away, but that was mostly to hide that his grin was infectious.
Drusilla couldn't help but laugh at his offer. If that's what the two quick chuckles that she immediately cut off in her throat could be called. “You're serious?” A cautious smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth. There'd been no clause in her instructions that said keeping him busy couldn't be entertaining.
“Alright,” she agreed with a light shrug of her shoulders. “Let’s see what you've got captain cowboy.”