Pan Pacific Damage Control

If he’s honest, Radhika is actually one of the first of the PPDC’s PR team members that he actually likes.  She’s whip smart and really fucking good at her job.  (And subconsciously he knows that she tolerates his bullshit more than is necessary, but that’s so deeply ingrained, someone would have to go into his thoughts all Inception style to bring it out.)

"I’ve got a flask in my locker if you’re into that." He snorts playfully here, crosses his arms over his chest as he lingers in her doorway.  "But apparently that shit’s frowned upon during working hours."

There’s a tentative pause like - is he really doing this?

She raises her gaze to him, eyeing him suspiciously. She can't help wondering what exactly he's got up his sleeve. After all, he's not exactly known for being helpful.

"--Okay? LOCCENT's got pretty good coffee too." 

(She wonders why she's still talking. Why it seems like she's actually engaging in a conversation with Riloh Harmon.)

It started as a little whisper in his mind, a sort of “wouldn’t it be absolutely fucking hilarious if-“, and kept nagging and nagging until dammit, he had to buy that 50x50 Christmas card in that gift store near the Dome.  I mean, the thing lights up for Christ’s sake.

The body jewelry was also not an issue.  His tattoo artist is conveniently located next to a body mod place, and he easily convinced the heavily pierced chick at the counter that he was buying for his “stripper girlfriend”.  (“So I’m talking major bling here.  Bling to the tenth degree.  Like, poke someone’s fucking eye out bling.”)

Now he’s stretching in the Kwoon, twenty minutes after his little “delivery”, giddy with anticipation - and oh, is that the sound of determined heels clicking towards his person?

The Kwoon is, as usual, filled with its usual throng of Rangers and trainers, and she looks extremely out of place in her cream blouse and pink pencil skirt and beige heels. She steps into the Kwoon, and her eyes immediately zero in on Riloh.

She narrows her eyes at his question.

"Everyone who isn't Riloh Harmon, get the hell out of the Kwoon," Radhika announces.

There's a pause. Heads turn to her incredulously -- who the hell is she to order everyone out?

She glances around, frowning. "Did I stutter? Everyone out, now."

And then there's movement, people scuttling to the door -- hovering there, because Riloh usually gets chewed out in offices. The fact that Radhika's sought him out? This is going to be good.

She stalks over to Riloh.

He can’t even find the words, wanting to spit several out at the same time - anger management classes, therapists, jumped up PPDC people, insomnia, that burning, aching feeling he gets where he needs to go destroy punching bags (read - other Rangers) in the Kwoon—-

It’s brief - this flicker of vulnerability behind normally guarded eyes, before he’s turning away from her and muttering with as much nonchalance as he can muster, “Whatever.  Just don’t take Kodiak away from me okay?”

"Just go," she says tiredly, not even looking up at him. "If you really want to hug it out, get me a coffee instead" An espresso would be nice, she thinks. Maybe two shots. 

fairy lights & cozy nights | autumn & winter

Lets take a minute to appreciate this photoset.

going away for two weeks

probably not going to come on tumblr

gonna let my queue run out

might get a reply or two done before I leave

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fucking phone there Rad— Miss Parekh.  You’re just yanking my chain, right?  I mean, you wouldn’t actually—  You couldn’t actually—"

(Except she probably wouldn't. This had been a bad idea from the start. She should have checked with the psychologists first, not approached the Rangers right away. Hell, she should've cleared it with the Marshal first. But nope, she had to go run her mouth and now it looked like Raleigh was on the verge of a panic attack.)