Ivanova's room, Thursday (for fandomhigh)
Ivanova breezed into her room, intending on a quick snack before she went right back out again.
Her computer had other plans.
"Incoming message from Babylon 5, from President John Sheridan, attention Susan Ivanova," it informed her calmly.
"Oh, shove it," Ivanova muttered from the interior of the fridge.
"Command not recognised."
Ivanova sighed. "Accept the damn thing already."
"Susan!" Sheridan said cheerfully as he appeared on the laptop screen.
"John," Ivanova replied evenly, slouching in the chair before him.
"It's good to . . ." His eyes suddenly bulged and he made a sound not entirely unlike a gulp as he registered exactly what he was seeing. "What are you wearing?"
Ivanova hid a smirk as she glanced down, non-chalant. "It is summer, John."
He blinked rapidly for a few minutes, fish-mouthing fragments of words to begin a sentence. Ivanova sat there very patiently and waited for him to recover. Maybe she should have just ended the call, given what was coming next.
"So, uh, when is your last class? Workshop, I mean."
"Just finished it, actually."
"Wonderful! I'll have Zathras come and get you this afternoon, then."
Ivanova almost lunged for the screen. "You'll what?" she demanded.
"Send Zathras for you this afternoon. Maybe tonight. You know how Zathras is -"
"John, I can't leave tonight!"
"Why not? You're finished there, aren't you?"
"No, I most certainly am not finished! For the love of god, John, give me another week, at least! I have friends here, I can't just pick up and leave!"
"You just picked up and left here, didn't you?"
"That's different." She dropped back into her chair. "Send Zathras all you like. I am not leaving yet."
"You sound like a child, Susan."
"I am a child, John. I'm not even twenty yet, remember?"
"Fine. Next week. But I want you back here, Susan."
"And I will be back."
"Tuesday."
"Thursday."
"Wednesday."
"Deal."
"Take care, Susan."
"You, too, John."
The screen went black and Ivanova clenched her teeth, wanting to throw something at it. Or maybe throw it at something. She settled for stomping back into the kitchenette and clattering around in search of her snack. Growl.
[[Open for anyone. Especially those who may need snuggles.]]
Her computer had other plans.
"Incoming message from Babylon 5, from President John Sheridan, attention Susan Ivanova," it informed her calmly.
"Oh, shove it," Ivanova muttered from the interior of the fridge.
"Command not recognised."
Ivanova sighed. "Accept the damn thing already."
"Susan!" Sheridan said cheerfully as he appeared on the laptop screen.
"John," Ivanova replied evenly, slouching in the chair before him.
"It's good to . . ." His eyes suddenly bulged and he made a sound not entirely unlike a gulp as he registered exactly what he was seeing. "What are you wearing?"
Ivanova hid a smirk as she glanced down, non-chalant. "It is summer, John."
He blinked rapidly for a few minutes, fish-mouthing fragments of words to begin a sentence. Ivanova sat there very patiently and waited for him to recover. Maybe she should have just ended the call, given what was coming next.
"So, uh, when is your last class? Workshop, I mean."
"Just finished it, actually."
"Wonderful! I'll have Zathras come and get you this afternoon, then."
Ivanova almost lunged for the screen. "You'll what?" she demanded.
"Send Zathras for you this afternoon. Maybe tonight. You know how Zathras is -"
"John, I can't leave tonight!"
"Why not? You're finished there, aren't you?"
"No, I most certainly am not finished! For the love of god, John, give me another week, at least! I have friends here, I can't just pick up and leave!"
"You just picked up and left here, didn't you?"
"That's different." She dropped back into her chair. "Send Zathras all you like. I am not leaving yet."
"You sound like a child, Susan."
"I am a child, John. I'm not even twenty yet, remember?"
"Fine. Next week. But I want you back here, Susan."
"And I will be back."
"Tuesday."
"Thursday."
"Wednesday."
"Deal."
"Take care, Susan."
"You, too, John."
The screen went black and Ivanova clenched her teeth, wanting to throw something at it. Or maybe throw it at something. She settled for stomping back into the kitchenette and clattering around in search of her snack. Growl.
[[Open for anyone. Especially those who may need snuggles.]]