vor | Luceti Appointments

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She shrugged. Hollom had always kept to herself; she couldn't be sure what he'd gone back to. She hoped it was something good, though.

"Mostly? We don't eat as well as we used to. But, uh, you're actually still living solo here?"

Curious. Her investigative nature was not well hidden.

"Yes." He hesitates. "Well, mostly. Ivan moved in two doors down."

He knows she met Ivan.

"So...you two -- you know each other?"

"Grew up together."

He's not sure he feels safe mentioning, in a Malnosso-built building, that Ivan is pretty much his heir.

"...Oh. Fancy that. I kinda went out of my way to not go name-dropping you, what with your whole alias fiasco. But it sounds like it's totally okay for me to own up to knowing you? 'Cause that'd really be great.

I generally suck at undercover."

"He already knows you know. I told him."

"...Huh. Fancy that."

She bought herself some time to chew over this fact by dipping into some teasing: "You told him good things, I hope."

"I told him you're from the twenty-first century. He's having an interesting time with that."

"You know, it's rare that I find myself on the ancient history side of the time divide. So it's fair to say that I'm having an interesting time with it, too."

Sometimes, it made her miss Bones.

"How is he settling?"

"Considering he tried to pick you up within hours of arriving? Pretty well."

Said like she still didn't believe Ivan had been genuinely trying to pickh her up: "Okay. Either he's very talkative or you're very...observant."

It wast the polite way to say nosy, really. After all, she was fairly nosy herself.

"That, or I just know him."

She began picking at the less-than-decent punching bag. Critically examining its seams, eyeing its hook.

"Kind of a Casanova, huh?"

"He'd like to be. I think his method tends more toward 'ask enough women and one is bound to say yes,' though."

She glanced across the room at him -- eyebrows up.

"Gee, suddenly I feel a whole lot less flattered by his attentions." Which was probably a good thing, in the end.

"I didn't mean he doesn't have taste. You're a beautiful girl."

"And now I think I feel a little too flattered."

Wow. Flushed in the face, she sought out a distraction in dismantling the old punching bag.

"Why don't you, uhm -- why don't you tell me about those classes you apparently take every year? So I know how hard I shouldn't hit you."

"I'm the Emperor of Barrayar. They teach me to survive."

Survival. She found her smile and lowered the punching bag to the floor, knocking it back against the wall with a well-forced heel.

"If I asked you to hit me with your best shot, would you?"

"Probably not." She's still a woman. And tiny. Drou is taller than he is.

"...Even if I told you that I'm fairly certain -- barring any surprises -- you can't hurt me? Not with your fists, at least. But we can stick to the bag for now, I suppose."

She crossed back over to the new one.

"...Buffy, I'm trained to incapacitate people as quickly as possible. It's not sport for me."

"Trust me. Sport is the furthest thing from my mind. But..."

Oh. She might be a supernaturally strong warrior woman but she was still short. Hooking up the new bag was gonna be a trial, unless--

"Can you gimme a hand? I'm more than little vertically challenged."

He walks up, grabs the chain, and is surprised at the weight she seems to bear so easily. He eyes her frame again, then hefts it up. Slowly.

She supported it from the bottom, guiding the punching bag gently into place until its strap snags on the ceiling hook. Voila. Her face peeked 'round the bag's curve with a smirk.

"Thanks."