WHO: Francine Goldstein & Richenza Selwyn WHAT: Plotting a light revenge! WHEN: January 23, afternoon WHERE: A bathroom at St Mungo's
Kathleen Branagan was going to get a very strongly worded message from Francine when she was done here. There was no way that she "didn't see" her when she dropped her tray and there was even less of a way that she was "so sorry, please can I help you with that" because if she hadn't seen her and she was actually sorry, then she wouldn't have dropped her tray all over Francine and force her to give up part of her lunch break to fix this mess in the bathroom.
Fuming, Francine scowled down at her chest, where a large spot of her tea had grown into a larger spot seemingly by the second. Not only was she going to get a strongly worded message, Kathleen was absolutely going to get her a new shirt! Especially since she hadn't worn it in months. So focused on the mess, Francine only broke out of her attention bubble when she heard the door open. "It's occupied," she said irritably, still squinting at the spot.
“You’ve something on your shirt, Mary,” Richenza said helpfully, as if she hadn’t heard Francine try to kick her out. To further prove she wasn’t going to be kicked out, she walked up to the other mirror and started to freshen up her lipstick.
The familiar voice caused Francine's head to jerk up in surprise and she half-covered the spot with her head and half-turned away from Richenza to hide it. "Yes, I know," she said stiffly, "It wasn't my fault."
“Well, I didn’t think you’d spill,” Richenza said, tilting a bit and squinting at Francine’s shirt through the mirror. “Tea? Coffee?” She sniffed the air and gave her reflection a decisive nod. “Tea. On purpose, though. Is it not coming out?”
Her frustration was evident in her answer, a clipped, "No." Francine stabbed at the spot with her finger and vowed to get her revenge. "I've tried to charm it three times already and it's still there. This is the worst tea in the world."
“Have you tried taking your shirt off and charming it?” Richenza’s eyes were suddenly focused on her own reflection. “Perhaps your body heat is interfering with it.”
"I don't see how that'd make a difference," Francine said, confused. "I've never had to take them off before and it's worked FINE." The last word, raised in volume, was directed at the spot, as if her yelling at it would cause it to disappear. It did not.
“Obviously there’s something wrong with the tea,” Richenza said breezily, brushing her fingers over her hair to make sure her bun was in perfect condition. “I’m only trying to help.” She gave Francine a helpless shrug through the mirror.
"I knew she had it out for me," Francine whispered, her fist clenching in anger, before she straightened up and looked sheepishly (though she would deny this description) at Richenza. "Thank you for trying to help. I wasn't yelling at you or anything."
“Oh, don’t worry, I know,” Richenza said with a smile, one she turned on Francine as she turned away from the mirror to lean against the sink. “Who has it out for you?”
The answer was declared with a poison that she often only reserved for the worst nemeses: "Kathleen Branagan. I don't know what I did to her." There was no way she was still mad about Francine assuming her identity for an investigation.
The tone of Francine’s voice had Richenza suddenly very intrigued and it showed in her smile. “I honestly have no idea who that is, but what are you going to do her now?” She gestured at Francine’s chest and the tea stain there. “This was very rude of her.”
"I…" Francine faltered, frowning. "I don't know yet. I've been very busy since it happened." Mostly trying to get the stain out, but it counted, because she hadn't had the time to fully devote to brainstorming any revenge solutions because of it.
“Perhaps you could give her a stain of her own,” Richenza suggested mildly, though inwardly she was considering imperiusing the other woman to apologize to Francine. Or worse. If Francine were Robin, he’d be down for worse. “Oh! Steal her ID. Then she couldn’t come to work. At least until she gets a new one, I suppose.”
Francine perked up at the suggestion. That was completely doable. She'd even practiced it lately, almost as if it was a sign for things to come. "I could do that. She's always running around on the third floor." she said slowly, one finger tapping at her chin in thought. "But… I don't want her to get fired or anything."
“They won’t fire her,” Richenza said, and then her gaze suddenly became very pointed, her eyebrows lifted ever so slightly. “It isn’t as though she refused to get an ID because of some strange moral high ground nonsense.”
"It wasn't strange or nonsense," Francine said, fixing Richenza with a glare. "It was very important to me, even if you don't see that."
“Yes, well,” Richenza said with a shrug, “they didn’t fire you either. So I’m sure Kathleen will be fine! Life will just be inconvenient for a bit!”
Maybe she was going about it all wrong. Inconvenience really paled in comparison to immediate gratification. Francine thought about it for a second and rested her weight against the sink next to her. "How do I make it so I can see her inconvenience?"
“Watch her get rejected at the door tomorrow?” Richenza gave another shrug. “And then, when she’s gotten another ID, just leave the old one in her things.”
A quick rearranging of Francine's schedule would allow her to do that without any problem. Buoyed by the solution, she couldn't hide the smile that was slowly appearing on her face. "I guess that's probably something I can do," she said. "And I guess it's not a terrible idea." The next word was harder to say, unaccustomed to thanking someone for an idea she wished she'd come up on her own. "Thanks," Francine rushed out.
“Of course,” Richenza said lightly, her smile soft without its usual sharpness. She liked that she’d made Francine smile. It felt like such a rare occurrence these days. She was going to ruin it, she was sure, but she pushed away from the sink she’d leaned against and took a few steps closer. “You know, you have a lovely smile.”
She'd never been able to resist a compliment. "I've heard that a lot," Francine said. "It's always my smile or my eyes."
Richenza’s eyes dipped appreciatively lower. “I wouldn’t say it’s just your smile or your eyes, though.”
"Oh." Francine followed the trajectory of Richenza's eyes and then held up a hand to cover her tea-stained chest. She searched for something to say, something witty or funny, but came up short. "Thank you?"
Richenza inclined her head graciously in an unspoken ‘you’re welcome’ and took a step closer. “Well? Don’t you have anything nice to say about me?”
"You have very nice eyebrows," Francine declared like that would settle the matter definitively, even if she could've applied that compliment to Richenza's everything else.
With a sigh, Richenza looked down at herself. “It’s these awful lime green robes. They drown all of my best features.”
"It's not the most flattering color," Francine had to agree, "but you don't have to be that dramatic."
A very brief shadow crossed Richenza’s face. That was not the correct answer. What Francine should’ve said was that she was wrong, that it was flattering on her. Francine did not have to agree! She gave her a smile that was almost too wide now. “Well,” she said, too brightly, “I should get back to work.”
As a seasoned investigator, Francine could always tell when something was wrong. Her senses were just built that way. The shadow across Richenza's face, the too wide smile, the too bright voice were all signs that supported her sense. But she needed more than a few seconds to conclude her mystery. "Wait," she said. "That was a compliment."
Richenza raised an eyebrow. “Which part?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “That the color doesn’t hide your best features?”
“Oh. I see,” Richenza said slowly, giving Francine a considering look. She cast her own reflection a quick glance before letting her eyes fall on the other girl again. Finally, she let out an impatient sigh, something vulnerable crossing her features now. “Mary, would you mind terribly if I kissed you?”
Richenza’s question had been so surprising, had thrown her off so much that her usual reaction to her first name (a pointed Francine) had gone to the wayside. Instead, her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes scanned Richenza’s face, looking for a clue, or a punchline, and her brain thought of an answer. What came out of her mouth was a flustered, squeaky, “While I have tea on my shirt?”
“I can wait until you don’t if you’d rather,” Richenza said, looking both amused and serious, “but I think it would be silly.”
That only flustered Francine more, her hand coming up to rest at the edge of the sink and tapping her fingers against it as she made up her mind. “I guess,” she said, pausing, wondering if this was an elaborate joke or something, because it was very much as possibility, since she’d never been propositioned in the bathroom before and because Richenza was Richenza, “Well, I probably wouldn’t mind.”
“Splendid,” Richenza murmured as she stepped in even closer. She lifted a hand and touched Francine’s cheek first, ignoring the embarrassing reminder that she’d wanted to do that for what felt like ages. It felt exactly the way she’d imagined it would, too, touching Francine’s cheek, which was another embarrassing thought. So to shut her brain up, she leaned in and pressed her mouth to Francine’s.
Even though Richenza had asked and Francine hadn’t objected, her eyes widened, following an internal alarm that sounded a lot like a jumble of incomprehensible sounds. It wasn’t like anything she’d imagined — not that she’d imagined it or anything, but Francine had a mind that just naturally lent itself to imagination and that was all she needed to say about that — and it took a second, or two, for her to relax into the kiss. Then, her eyes finally fluttered shut, she moved closer, and she kissed her back.