{ scene } dear magnetic boy you've never been with anyone who doesn't take your shit

[inthewaywedie]

Probably, James is aware, he should've spoken to Pelagia weeks ago; probably, he knows, there is a very specific conversation that they should've already had. Unfortunately (or very, very conveniently; he hasn't decided), home office had called him in and sent him off again, bung wrist and all, so he'd had no more time than to leave a note for her

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[mareprocellarum]

The mermaid is sunning herself on some rocks, still damp from her swim earlier; she's got her legs on, and is watching James from beneath her eyelashes with vague curiosity. She's happy he's back, but she wondered at the miraculous timing of this particular mission - and while she's kept busy on her own terms (she's not the "waiting around" type, as previously noted- she has her home's politics with which to contend), she did keep tabs on his return.

There are things he's kept from her. Important things. She hates that.

"Hello, James," she calls, rising from her perch with lazy grace, "you look well."

[inthewaywedie]

"Marc-Ange apologized for making a mess I had to clean up by forwarding me to one of his personal doctors," he says dryly, bending to pick up his case and watching her from the pier with an admittedly wary sort of fondness. Wariness doesn't actually stop him from hopping down to meet her halfway so he can kiss her hello- he missed her, and a vague suspicion that she's going to come to her senses sometime in the near future is a good enough reason to make the most of this time when she isn't shouting at him about what an idiot he is.

[mareprocellarum]

"Difficult mission?" She fists her (wet) hands in his shirtfront so she can kiss him for a little longer, naked and serene in the sunlight. Pelagia doesn't care whether she gets his clothes wet, it seems.

She's waiting to bring up the elephant in the room- maybe she will when he inevitably makes for the liquor.

[inthewaywedie]

"Interminable." In fairness, James doesn't seem to care if she gets his clothes wet, either; a minor tendency to leap fully clothed into the water on a whim probably accounts for that. "It only needed to take a week. Two weeks, max."

And as disgruntled as he is about that, that's all the more he intends to say about his work today. His inevitable search for alcohol will probably not take long.