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2046-02-12 Work P***Y

From X-Factor

Work P***Y
Date Posted 2016/02/12
Location Lounge - X-Factor Solutions
Participants Rosalie, Tiffany
Summary Just ladies making some puns. Move along.
 
The lounge is the one place in X-Factor that shows some signs of personality, and as such, it's far more comfortable than either the sterile neatness of the front entrance or the sleek tech of the conference room.

One wall has been painted kelly green, a color which sets off the less-exciting black of the refrigerator, cabinets, and microwave that make up the tiny kitchenette area. Another wall has already earned some graffiti. It's become common for new employees to leave a signature of sorts, scrawled somewhere on the wall in varied-colored marker. They range from literal signatures to symbols and pictures depicting mutations or call signs or some other mysterious image. They appear to be getting more elaborate as time goes on.

One wall has been kept clear for a holoprojector that can be configured for use with any number of technologies, though its most common use is as a television. A pair of couches long-since worn down into narcoleptic comfort flank it, and a single wingchair sits opposite the coffee table set between. Behind the comfortable cluster, a small round table can seat four, and next to it a staircase leads up into the offices.


It is a winter night. The weather is freezing and fair.


Just outside of X-Factor Solutions, Miss Newetner braves the cold to loiter over a cigarette. She isn't alone, but has been graced with the company of one of the neighborhood strays. Shivering with the fluffy tortoiseshell cat winding in between her legs, the young woman takes one last drag before heading inside.

The feline trots ahead of her, slipping confidently inside ahead of her, "Wait!" Tiff freezes up in the doorway, kneeling, "No, c'm'ere." She whispers, kneeling to try and lure the stray back outside. As the creature slips out of sight under the reception desk, Tiffany has no choice but to pursue. She lowers to her hands and knees, "Where'd you go?"

Well ahead of her, the cat slinks stealthily out of the main entrance, prancing confidently into the lounge.

Rosalie is sitting on one of the lounge couches, legs crossed, dressed in workout clothing, her dark hair scraped back from her face, a water bottle between her hands. She is staring at the opposite wall, her forehead faintly furrowed, her face thoughtfully. As the cat slips into the lounge, her gaze goes to it, following it with a growing frown. That's probably not supposed to be in here.

<FS3> Tiffany rolls Bluff: Good Success. (3 7 7 5 1 2 3 2)

The cat pauses to regard Rosalie with what can only be described as a false sense of superiority.

Behind it, Tiffany appears in the doorway on all-fours. "Ehem," she blinks, putting a hand to the doorframe as she super-casually stands back up. She straightens her tweed pencil skirt and her sweater, which depicts dolphins jumping out of the ocean and seems more like something a mom in Florida would wear. Wetting her lips, she fixes her hair and remains quite stoic as she enters the room. Totally casual.

Rosalie's frown only deepens. Her gaze trails from the cat over to Tiffany. One eyebrow raises, quizzically. She raises her water bottle to her lips, and takes a long swallow, dark eyes still on Tiffany, before she speaks. "Do you always go about on all fours?" she wonders. "It seems like it might be a little inconvenient."

"Yup," Tiffany answers in monotone, gesturing casually towards herself, "Just. Super weird. Always." She does her best not to spook the cat as she migrates just a little further into the room.

The creature scoots closer to Rosalie, rubbing itself against the corner of the couch and purring.

Rosalie is apparently not a woman who melts at the very sight of cats. She considers the cat. She considers the cat as if it were some sort of complicated problem. She then returns to considering Tiffany, one eyebrow still upraised. "You might want to reconsider the skirt, then," she suggests, super helpfully. She does unbend enough to reach down with one hand. The cat can sniff it if she wants.

"Thanks, I'll cons-" As the cat gently touches its nose to Rosalie's knuckles, Tiffany places both of her small hands on her hips. She narrows her eyes, "Am I being punked? Does that cat like, work here? ...Is it like, a shapeshifter?"

"It's just that skirts tend to get hiked up," offers Rosalie. Super helpful with the fashion advice, Rosalie. She frowns at the cat, and the tiniest smile of smiles curves her lips. "Yes," she says. "It's probably Gertrude, our shapeshifter. She likes being a cat. It means fewer clothes."

At Rosalie's mention, Tiffany does hike her skirt back down a little. Placing both hands on either side of it, she wiggles her hips to facilitate the process, "Damnit, Gertrude." She doesn't seem all that put out, peering down at the cat skeptically. ...She still isn't sure. "What if it's just a regular cat, though?"

Rosalie's smile brightens just a little, but she bites it back, trying to restrain it. She withdraws her hands, folding them in her lip, ever so careful about their placement. "I don't know," she says. "Perhaps she'll change back if you do a little dance."

"She can stay a goddamn cat, then." Tiffany steps over to the kitchenette. Popping open one of the cabinets, she searches for a mug. She's still new, so it takes her a little while, "Do you know if this coffee is uh, relatively fresh?"

Rosalie laughs. It's a brief laugh, half a syllable of merriment. The air in the room seems to turn warmer, the balmy warmth of a summer's day. "Good thing it is just a goddamn cat, then," she explains. The word 'goddamn' sounds strange in her precise voice. She reaches out to pet the goddamn cat, and rises, stretches a little. "I think it was there when I arrived a hour ago."

"Good enough for me." Lifting up the carafe, Tiffany sniffs the coffee before filling her mug. She fixes it with a generous amount of sugar. She turns just ever so slightly, keeping an eye on Rosalie in her peripheral. Not facing the other woman, Tiffany shifts her eyes, "Yeah, I think somebody must have accidentally let it in."

"Somebody," repeats Rosalie. She returns to the kitchen herself, to refill her water bottle. "Funny how it came in just before you did.”

Tiffany turns on her heel, leaning the small of her back against the counter. "I don't know," she brings the mug of coffee to be level with her lips, blowing a puff of air out over the hot liquid, "I'm no snitch but, it seems pretty comfortable with you." The corner of her mouth curves up in a teasing little smirk.

"I can't handle cats," replies Rosalie, with a glance over her shoulder at the cat in question. "They're entirely too unpredictable."

The cat has taken up residence in Rosalie's former perch. It pauses in cleaning itself to stare over at the two women before jumping down and hiding underneath the couch.

"You think?" Tiffany asks, glancing over towards the cat as well. She falls into a quiet train of thought. Taking another sip of her coffee, she watches the cat's tail disappear.

"They are very quiet and like to leap out of places." Rosalie has her own ideas about cats, it seems. "I don't deal well with being startled."

Still facing the cat, Tiffany’s eyes widen just slightly. Staring over at Rosalie from the corners of her eyes, she keeps her tone mild, “What happens when you get startled?”

Rosalie's gaze goes to the water bottle, watching it fill with water. She finishes filling before she replies, simply, "Weather."

"I used to know someone like that," Tiffany says quietly. She leaves it at that and allows a moment of silence to form before she breaks it with the sound of her gently setting down her mug. Moving forward, Tiffany carefully pads across the room. She approaches the couch in the most non-threatening manner she can. Kneeling partially, she extends her hand and wiggles her fingers to lure the stray out. "C'mere," Tiffany coos, tentatively wrapping her arms around it and drawing it close to her chest. She continues to talk to it calmly, if only to keep it from scrambling away, "This place isn't for you. You'd hate having a job."

Rosalie watches her water bottle a moment more, quiet. "I like having a job," she objects. (She wasn't talking to you, Rosalie.) "It keeps my mind busy." She turns and wanders back into the lounge. "Not that this is that much of a job, most of the time. It's the occasional odd job, and the rest of the time you can cuddle pussies under the couch."

Tiffany doesn't correct Rosalie, "Fine. Then, maybe I was just projecting." She gives the cat a scritch under its chin. Rocking it like a fussy baby, she drifts back out towards the main entrance with the intention of setting the little beast loose back outside, "But one thing's for sure, work pussy is never worth the drama."

"No? I would think sometimes it might be nice to have a cat around," says Rosalie. "Despite the startling issue. Some bookstores--" She gets partway through the thought before something sinks in, and she stops short, blinking at Tiffany. She turns a delicate shade of pink. "I wouldn't know."

Tiffany doesn't blush. She pants out a breath laugh, "Well, *this* one is obviously a little troublemaker." She moves her eyebrows, looking over towards Rosalie coolly, "And I wouldn't know, either." She shifts her eyes as her smirk grows into more of a smile, "That was just low hanging fruit."

Rosalie is still noticeably pink, her cheeks flushed. "Oh," she says. She looks awkward, lacing her fingers together, that warmth in the air lingering. She draws a deep breath, and retorts, "Well. I don't think work pussy is _always_ low hanging fruit."

Letting out an unexpected chirp at that, Tiffany laughs, "You're funny." She continues to rock the cat and make her way out of the room. She continues to laugh, albeit with less enthusiasm, as she walks out of sight to dispose of the ehem, feline.

Rosalie blinks at the disappearing Tiffany. She laces her fingers together again. "Oh." Her fingers tighten on each other, her pinkness not disappearing, and says, "That one might be, though."

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