death by Ren (tyburn) wrote in warrantlogs, @ 2015-10-24 11:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | !backlog, jaime tyburn, tracey dawes |
Getting shit together
WHO: BB!Jaime Tyburn & BB!Tracey Dawes
WHAT: Finals.
WHEN: '62
WHERE: RAC Training Camp
WARNINGS: N/A besides a few cuss words
Jaime walked at an uncharacteristically slow pace towards Tracey's room, two mugs of piping of tea in his hands. A satchel of study materials hung precariously on one shoulder, poised to slide off at any given time. He could foresee the chain of disasters that would follow if it did -- literally drop like a sack onto his elbow, jostle his arm, steaming hot tea everywhere -- and compromised by moving hunched on one side for balance. He paused outside her room, stopping and frowning. How to knock? Hmm. Jaime shuffled around, but found it impossible to knock on the door without spilling the drinks or dislodging his bag from its perch. A kick was within his abilities but balancing on one foot while doing so would certainly contribute to a higher risk of starting the aforementioned chain reaction. "Trace...," he called out instead, and shifted around on his feet again. "Tracey." “Yo.” A Tracey clad in socks and slippers appeared at the door, hooking one foot around the edge of it so that Jaime could make his way in unemcumbered. “Tea!” she declared, tucking a lock of hair that had escaped from her messy bun behind one ear. “Amazing. You may enter.” Jamie grinned, doing a little dip as he passed on of the mugs to Tracey and let his bag slip onto the floor -- thud -- in one swift move. "Hey babe," Jamie surveyed the room, "So...whatcha doing?" “Studying. Or trying to. This will help.” She raised the mug in a half toast towards him. “Dare I ask how you’re going with your revision?” "...fine," he answered in a tone of voice that was begging to be questioned. "I work better with company." Jamie added and shrugged with his free hand palm out. "I'm hoping that my bribe will let you let me stay here. With you." “Better if it had whiskey in it, but acceptable,” Tracey conceded after a taste. In truth she thought that whiskey (or any alcohol) with tea sounded revolting, but she was in the cabin fever stage of revision and Jaime’s company was therefore welcome. “I need to change my tactics,” she added, Jaime’s answer not going unnoted by her. When someone said that revision was going “fine,” it applied to most other uses of the word (relationships etc) and suggested that revision was very much not going fine. Scooping up a handful of cards, she passed them to Jaime. “Quiz me on definitions?” Jaime's face scrunched up at the idea of whiskey and tea, his gaze dropping to the mug in his hand. He had been leaning against the door, one arm crossed over his torso and supporting the other. The tea was set down upon Tracey's request, and he took a few moments to skim through the deck, bemused and curious at her syllabus. "Hey look I learned something. And it's only been three minutes at most." Rather tactlessly, Jamie took a few steps and plopped down in Tracey's chair, and gave the impression of an evil overlord. "Are you ready?" Jamie asked in a deep voice. “Great. All you’re missing is a cat.” Tracey rose her eyebrows, folded her arms beneath her chest. “Bring it.” “Okay, so that wasn’t as bad as I thought,” Tracey allowed about half an hour and a cup of tea later. “At this rate I might do better than the Appletini after all. You?” Jaime twirled his pen between his fingers and scribbled a short note in his notebook. "I learned more about engineering than I've ever had," he replied and tapped his pen against the stack of cards he still had. "Not a bad thing considering there are way worse shit than that I could have been doing -- can be doing -- instead." Tracey raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to be that person who only gets offers from the Appletini?” she asked idly. “You know, the one that everyone tries not to snigger at during the graduation ceremony?” She didn’t bother to lecture Jaime about his study habits - he was a big boy and his choices were his own - but maybe an appeal to his pride may make him reconsider how to spend his last few weeks as a student. He had come here though, and there were better candidates he could have picked if he wanted to slack off. Maybe that meant something. Or maybe her room was just closest to his floor of any of his other friends... Jaime brought the pen to his lips and gnawed thoughtfully, listening silently and actually looking quite sheepish. "Well..." Pause. "Would you be offended if I said I needed some tough love?" Jaime leaned back until the chair was wobbling on its hind legs before settling down again. Tap-tap-tap, went the pen again. "You know I'm not bad, I just get distracted and I don't know. You can berate me into concentrating harder I guess." “Not at all.” Tracey took a seat on her bed now, level with Jaime. “I did it all the time with my trainers,” she admitted with a half-shrug. “I knew who the hard-arses were and who was the ‘spoonful of sugar’ type. The trick is knowing who you need and when. I mean, if you had really wanted TLC-” she smiled “-then you would have gone to Ireland.” Jaime's short chuckle lifted his lips into a grin. Fair point. (Though that wasn’t necessarily accurate, Tracey reflected. Fretful mother that he was, Ireland had likely done his share of motivational talks and colour-coded study plans with Jaime.) “Okay, so the card thing seems to be working with you,” she assessed. “With you quizzing me and being able to see what’s on them and me answering. And if you feel like your mind’s beginning to wander, we can switch?” Jaime nodded and leaned forward, "--but before that, I'm going to go on another tea run and return with brain fuel. And then I'll get my shit together." |