i'll make sure he knows it's his fault when we screen the inconvenient truth sequel next movie night.
[ Steve is still grinning down at his phone when someone clears their throat behind him. He doesn't know how it's possible to imbue a guttural huff with so much disdain but impatient Starbucks customers have perfected the skill. He mumbles a half-assed apology—he can never spare too much sympathy for the impatient; anyone that pressed for time could have just skipped the coffee run—and steps up to give his order. On a whim, he orders a second drink and a salted caramel cake pop. They're much too rich for his taste, but Natasha likes them.
By the time he moves over to the counter to wait for his order, he has a new text. The silly grin makes its way back onto his face, and he knows he should be more careful—it wasn't even that exciting of a text—but he can't help it. He'll save his effort for when he's actually in front of Natasha; she's the only one he needs to worry about fooling, anyway, since his friends are already well aware of his hopeless crush.
The question of class registration shouldn't be difficult: he's far more interested in human rights than global security, not least because the latter is often used as an excuse to limit the former. But Global Security Policy is offered in the evenings, and he can't help the way his brain instantly makes the jump from evening class to casually inviting Natasha to dinner after said evening class. Good thing he already knows he's pathetic. ]
i might be tied up on tues & thurs mornings, i still have that last math credit they won't let me waive.
[ He could (and probably will) just take that class online, but he's technically still undecided, and that class is offered in the same block. ]
i don't understand why there's a sequel. is the truth now more inconvenient?
[ the truth is always inconvenient: the mantra of modern comparative politics (and the white-haired professor who taught the course), and one that natasha had taken to heart. people liked to claim that they wanted the truth, that they "hated liars" and "didn't like drama" ... and those same people were routinely taken aback when someone (read: natasha) pointed out that they were the problem all along. telling people the truth wasn't what they wanted. they wanted what they hoped was the truth.
she's midway through a serious contemplation on morality in business and the ethics of being honest when it's more efficient to lie when an unfamiliar face drops into the seat opposite at her table; barely ten seconds later, and a ballet flat kicks outward, shoving the seat back with enough force to send it tipping on its rear legs.
no, she scolds, tone deadpan and firm, and the unwanted sophomore with a stupid grin runs off to find his next victim. potential love interest. same thing. ]
secpol it is. [ a beat, her thumbs tapping against the side of the phone. ] you could take stats online. i still have the book.
[ she kind of assumed he'd want to take the latter. leave his evenings free, but also because he's a giant bleeding heart who cares too much about everybody else all the time. giving him an easy out seems like the right thing to do. ]
library. [ she doesn't need to elaborate. he knows where she goes. fourth floor, left side, four-top table in the russian history section. no one (or, more accurately thanks to the earlier interruption, almost no one) ventures up there. ] your espresso properly roasted today?
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no subject
[ Steve is still grinning down at his phone when someone clears their throat behind him. He doesn't know how it's possible to imbue a guttural huff with so much disdain but impatient Starbucks customers have perfected the skill. He mumbles a half-assed apology—he can never spare too much sympathy for the impatient; anyone that pressed for time could have just skipped the coffee run—and steps up to give his order. On a whim, he orders a second drink and a salted caramel cake pop. They're much too rich for his taste, but Natasha likes them.
By the time he moves over to the counter to wait for his order, he has a new text. The silly grin makes its way back onto his face, and he knows he should be more careful—it wasn't even that exciting of a text—but he can't help it. He'll save his effort for when he's actually in front of Natasha; she's the only one he needs to worry about fooling, anyway, since his friends are already well aware of his hopeless crush.
The question of class registration shouldn't be difficult: he's far more interested in human rights than global security, not least because the latter is often used as an excuse to limit the former. But Global Security Policy is offered in the evenings, and he can't help the way his brain instantly makes the jump from evening class to casually inviting Natasha to dinner after said evening class. Good thing he already knows he's pathetic. ]
i might be tied up on tues & thurs mornings, i still have that last math credit they won't let me waive.
[ He could (and probably will) just take that class online, but he's technically still undecided, and that class is offered in the same block. ]
are you on campus? i got sbux.
no subject
[ the truth is always inconvenient: the mantra of modern comparative politics (and the white-haired professor who taught the course), and one that natasha had taken to heart. people liked to claim that they wanted the truth, that they "hated liars" and "didn't like drama" ... and those same people were routinely taken aback when someone (read: natasha) pointed out that they were the problem all along. telling people the truth wasn't what they wanted. they wanted what they hoped was the truth.
she's midway through a serious contemplation on morality in business and the ethics of being honest when it's more efficient to lie when an unfamiliar face drops into the seat opposite at her table; barely ten seconds later, and a ballet flat kicks outward, shoving the seat back with enough force to send it tipping on its rear legs.
no, she scolds, tone deadpan and firm, and the unwanted sophomore with a stupid grin runs off to find his next victim. potential love interest. same thing. ]
secpol it is. [ a beat, her thumbs tapping against the side of the phone. ] you could take stats online. i still have the book.
[ she kind of assumed he'd want to take the latter. leave his evenings free, but also because he's a giant bleeding heart who cares too much about everybody else all the time. giving him an easy out seems like the right thing to do. ]